


Cas' Backstory

by mrterzieff_godefroy



Series: Cat Eyed Bat [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidentally called Geralt dad, Backstory, Cas just generally sucking, Cas sucking at being a vampire, Cas sucking at being a witcher, Don't worry, He knows it too, Multi, Substance Abuse, Yes I know Cas is a Mary Sue, this is very weird and i don't know when to stop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:24:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrterzieff_godefroy/pseuds/mrterzieff_godefroy
Summary: Cas is deposited in Kaer Morhen probably bc the current world had enough of him.Yeah I'm not good at writing summaries. Basically this is just some context for Cas.





	1. Falling with Style

**Author's Note:**

> Cas and Lambert are more similar than I expected.

This was it. _Yes. Hell fucking yeah!_ This was the day that Cas finally lived what he had dreamt of for years. What he had written about. He knew he couldn’t base his expectations on his writing. After all, it was purely fiction. The cold wind and rain whipped around him as he crossed the street, a slight hesitation in his step. The building was a boring grey, the windows tinted and cracked or even shattered in places. Cars zooming past drowned out any doubts Cas had about the place as he walked around the building in the hopes of finding the front door. The water in the gutter of the alleyway glistened, still, tranquil, renewed by the rain. Its silent, serene state was abruptly disturbed by Cas’ boot as he stepped in the gutter, having miscalculated his step onto the footpath. Thunder crackled and a bolt of lightning could be seen in the distance. And yet Cas bounded up to the door, an image of bubbly excitement. The door was old and metal, dinted in places and the knob was rusty. Cas hesitated. This could be a trap… but… no. He couldn’t back out now. Who was he to judge a place by its rundown appearance? Steeling himself, he threw the door open, stepping into the room. The building was more akin to a warehouse than anything else. The light blinded him for a second. It was one big room, tables were set out everywhere, vials, flasks, other miscellaneous scientific equipment that Cas could not name for the life of him.

“Ah! You.” A man with a face akin to a rat’s beckoned Cas over. “You will be taking part in the experiment, will you not?”

“Yeah. Think so.” Cas shrugged. _My friends are meant to be here. Where are they?_

“If you’re ready, we can start.”

“I-uh-Aren’t my friends supposed to be here.” The man looked at him strangely.

“The portal only works once every three hours. They have different appointment times to you. Are you ready?”

“Y-yeah.” Cas fidgeted with the wolf’s head medallion hanging around his neck. A trifle. From eBay. He had thought about leaving it at home, but for all he knew, he’d die before he could get a real one. The man led him to a ring of mirrors all facing each other.

“Now. I want you to repeat after me. I am real. I am, say your name. I will not forget.”

“Okay. Now?”

“Yes. Now.” The man sighed, exasperated.

“I am real. I am Cas. I will not for…” He never got to finish his sentence. He felt a pulling, a cold black abyss in which he could neither hear, nor see. It seemed to crush his lungs and he let forth a scream, plummeting from a great height. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the grey sky. It’s gonna rain.

 

* * *

 

It was an overcast, dreary day at Kaer Morhen. A day that was, well, like any other. It was a boring day. With work to do, sure. But Vesemir wasn’t feeling up to it. He sat on a crumbled wall and watched on as Lambert pretended to work and Eskel muttered bitterly under his breath about how ‘bloody useless’ Lambert is. How he’s a ‘fucking freeloader.’ It was, for lack of a better term, a normal day. But there was a feeling of unease in the air. A disruption. Anyone who wasn’t a witcher would pay no heed to the feel of the air, which was heavy like a damp cloth, despite it being a cold, crisp afternoon. It felt like something big was going to happen. Vesemir was expecting something, but never this.

It started with rain, clouds, thunder, and lightning. With a rumbling so loud and deep the witchers had to cover their sensitive ears for fear of ruptured eardrums. The scene ended with a person, plummeting from the sky, screaming, right into the training ground. The sky instantly cleared, the rumbling gone.

“What the everliving fuck was that?”

“Language Lambert. You know how Vesemir gets when he hears that sort of vocabulary.”

“Quiet, both of you, shut up.” Growled Vesemir. He drew his sword and cautiously made his way to the arena.

He approached the unconscious boy, and knelt down next to him. He took note first of the boy’s clothing. Unusual. Baggy pants made of a soft material, his heavy leather jacket must’ve saved him from the cold as his shirt was thin and not suited to the weather they got up here. His boots were leather and reached just below his knees. They had laces up the front, but what were these on the sides? Metal laces of some sort? Vesemir did not know. He pushed the coat the boy was wearing to the side, revealing a wolf’s head medallion. This was getting interesting. He wasn’t a witcher. No, Vesemir remembered every boy he’d ever trained. This was not one of them. He had pierced ears with onyx studs and he seemed to be lying on something. Vesemir thought it was a bag but who could tell. The bright colours were obviously dyed. The boy was, to his surprise, relatively uninjured. But he was, nonetheless, unconscious. Vesemir concluded that the teenager was harmless, and picked him up. The way he flopped around and the way his head lolled was sickening and gave the impression that he was dead. But he was breathing. It looked to Vesemir that he was in a state of self induced lethargy. Which can’t be the case because this kid was not a witcher and didn’t smell like he’d taken any potions... This kid… This kid wasn’t a witcher. Despite the medallion, he was small, had almost no visible scars, save one under his chin and one running up the length of his nose, two small, faded stripes. He had almost no muscle on him, not nearly enough to be a witcher.

His own medallion hummed curiously as he carried the boy into the main fortress. Was he magic? A monster? Vesemir didn’t think so, but, even though he had a lot of experience, he was old. Maybe his mind was starting to play tricks on him. A few centuries of life will do that to a man. He stilled his movements as the body stiffened and convulsed slightly before settling down. He passed Sad Albert and put him down on the nearest table that currently also held a few jars of mutagens. Not ideal, but better than Sad Albert. He placed him gently and took a step back to look at him. Just as he stopped, the boy went rigid again, his eyes opening momentarily to show his brown irises rolling back into his head. He arched up off the table, a noiseless scream flying off his lips. He thrashed about for a while and the table and several jars began to rattle. Vesemir tried to restrain him but it was no use. Suddenly, the jars flew off their shelves, straight at Vesemir. He let go of the boy and rolled to the side to avoid them. The jars themselves crashed to the floor while the mutagens flew on and were absorbed by the boy. The jars of mutagens on the table containing those of a Katakan and a True Higher Vampire that Geralt had brought in a few months ago before he went off on another mysterious journey, began to glow. It seemed as if their mutagens were torn directly from them. They merged in mid air and were quickly absorbed by the boy. It wasn’t until he felt himself being drawn towards the boy that he realised that for the trial to complete he needed more. The force of the vortex around the brown haired child was getting stronger, pulling him in. Jars smashed all around him, reminding him of a battlefield. He struggled to get to his destination; the locked chest of mutagens, originally used for the Trial of the Grasses. He crawled towards it and with fumbling hands, unlocked it. Vesemir covered his head as the preserved mutagens and potions raced towards the boy, who was still flailing around and screaming. As soon as they were absorbed, the screaming ceased and the boy stopped moving. Vesemir feared him dead as so many of the children going through the trial ended up. He listened, breath bated, for a sign of life, a breath, or maybe a heartbeat. It seemed, after a few minutes, that the boy had brought himself back from the dead, torn the veil open, and come back to his body. Vesemir sighed, relieved, and made his way over to the child. He looked puzzled at what just happened. He had never seen someone put themselves through the trial. Never thought it possible, but it was undeniable, what he saw. And the way this boy did it… There was something wrong, something magical. Vesemir didn’t like it at all. Not the telekinesis, not anything about this boy.

Lambert, ever the master of elegance, grace and subtlety, loudly approached, demanding to know what “the fuck” just happened. Vesemir looked at him, annoyed, but resolved to tell both Lambert and Eskel over dinner. He sent Lambert out to polish swords.

 

* * *

 

 

They took it surprisingly well, though still suspicious of the boy, and rightly so. After moving the unconscious boy to Geralt’s empty bed, they retired to sit in front of the fire, begrudgingly drinking the last of their beer supply. Vesemir would send Eskel to town for rations tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Four days passed and the boy did not wake. They checked on him regularly but there was no change in his condition. Vesemir feared he might die of malnutrition, but there was nothing he could do. He had never cared for the boys going through the trial. He was but a sword master. He only saw the boys after. Their best hope was a sorceress, but no sorceress would be willing to come all the way out to Kaer Morhen just for a comatose boy. No potion could be administered because they just didn’t know what was wrong with the boy. Would witcher potions even work? Or would they put him in a state of shock like they did with normal humans? Would they fry his nervous system? Vesemir didn’t know. And so he waited.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy shielded his eyes from the harsh light, taking in the blurred ceiling with great difficulty. He felt like he’d slept for a month. His mouth was dry and tasted terrible. Where am I? He sat up and immediately regretted his choice, his head pounding like a drum. He groaned and fell backwards onto the hard bed. What the hell? He was obviously in some sort of castle. _So whoever owns this place can afford a god damn fortress but not decent beds? Of course._ He sat up more slowly this time and tried to remember how he got there. He shifted his feet on the cold stone floor, kicking them like a child, as he tried his damnedest to remember anything at all. It appeared he was a blank slate. Not in the sense of a baby, no. He could read, write, complain about math, but he hadn’t a single memory before he awoke that morning. He knew what he was supposed to look like, kind of. _Uh. Actually, no._ He knew that he was short. That was about it. He attempted to find out anything from where he’d been recently and was met with an encyclopedic knowledge of The Witcher 3 as well as a little bit of knowledge about the previous games and the books. He went over the monsters whose names resided in the corners of his mind, mumbling to himself to better remember them. 

“Griffin, Harpy, Siren, Succubus …” He uttered the names of the hybrids out loud. His voice was low. Much lower than it should have been. He didn’t know why he thought that, as far as he was aware, he was male and therefore had a low voice. He’d figure out that mystery later. He stood, unsteady on his feet, and attempted to walk only to fall flat on his face.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed in surprise. He got up quickly, making sure no one saw that, even though he knew perfectly well that he was alone in the castle. He sighed and continued walking aimlessly, taking in his surroundings. He suddenly realised that he was in Kaer Morhen, recognising the layout from… He didn’t know where. He could only guess that he’d played the games. He rubbed his forehead, it was bleeding. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“Okay so if this is Kaer Morhen then there should be some witchers around here. If I’m lucky I might find Geralt so the training ground is probably my best bet, followed by the kitchen and the boat house.” He talked to himself, an impulse, a way to collect his thoughts? He had no idea and just accepted it as something he does.

“Hm. Talking to yourself. First sign of insanity. For all I know, I’m way beyond that. Even to the point of hallucination since this place is fictional. But maybe it isn’t…” He stumbled his way over to the heavy door leading outside and, with immense difficulty, managed to open it. The fresh air was a relief. The smell of rotting corpses, not so much. His stomach heaved at that but he brought nothing up as there was nothing to bring up. He realised how hungry he was, but he wouldn’t raid the kitchen without permission. He looked around for the source of the putrid smell and spotted a drowner corpse slung over a crumbled stone fence. It looked like it had been dead a while. Steeling himself, he made the trek to the training ground, looking down on it from the platform. He spied Lambert meditating on the opposite side of the arena.  
“Hm. Expected to find him at the boat house.” He walked to Lambert quietly so as not to disturb him.  
“Uhm… Hello? Hi.” He poked Lambert’s shoulder, testing his luck. Lambert startled, took the boy by the shoulders and held him to the ground.  
“Easy, tiger.” Cas joked half heartedly. His jesting mood was feigned, the fear in his eyes was very real. The fierce look in the witcher’s eyes was enough to make even a battle hardened warrior soil his breeches.

“You’re the boy. One who fell out of the sky. Who are you? Where did you come from?” Lambert yelled intensely.

“Tell you the truth, I got no idea. Absolutely none. So… wait, why am I here? Oh, right. Can you point me in the direction of Vesemir? As touching as this greeting is, I’d rather it stop now and never repeat itself. In other words; get off me, Lambert.” The witcher was startled and shifted his weight off the smaller man, standing up awkwardly. The boy stood up too and shivered from the cold, a sudden breeze biting at his skin under the thin, white shirt. He rubbed his arms and chattered his teeth, judging that it was probably about -4’C.

“See you know my name.”

“Evidently.” He breathed heavily into the air, watching the fog in front of him in fascination. “Heh. I’m a dragon.” He chuckled quietly, he was obviously still childish. Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Eskel back? He tell you? Or was it Coën?”

“Nah. Like to meet them too. But preferably after I meet Vesemir and find out what the fuck’s going on.”

“Believe me, kid. We all want to know what’s going on.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ah, look who’s awake!” Vesemir tuned towards Lambert and the boy as they walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah. I’m awake. How long was I out?” The boy rubbed his eyes.

“Five days.”

“Shit.” The boy sat down on the bench at the table, wood digging into his back as he rested his elbows on the table top behind him. He looked around the dimly lit room. Hunks of meat were hanging alongside herbs. Some he recognised as poisonous. The tables were messy and there was a bucket full of dishes. The cauldron bubbled over an open fire where Vesemir was busy stirring. Upon sniffing the air, the boy determined that he was cooking lamb stew. That didn’t make any sense to him as he would have figured that they would be using mutton, as lamb should be an expensive and rare delicacy. But what did he know? The table smelt of rats and evidence of their visits was everywhere. The boy shifted along the bench as he found himself directly under the chandelier, it’s candles flickering and casting grim shadows on the rough hewn walls, giving him a unsettling sense of unease.

“So…. Vesemir…” The boy clicked his tongue in thought. “Know who I am?”

“Should I?” The old witcher growled.

“Ugh. No. I don’t suppose so. Not when I don’t even know.” He crossed his arms and glared at his feet, defeated.

“Hmm. Amnesia. Not unlikely after the fall you had, young man. Can you remember anything? Anything at all?” Vesemir made his way over to the boy, kneeling down to his height.

“Well… Nothing about myself, my life, my name, all gone. Replaced with more important knowledge, it seems.” Vesemir chuckled.

“More important than your name? Pray tell, what’s more important than your name?”

“A list, a mantra of sorts, repeating in my head. Like to hear it?”

“Hmm. Sure.”

“Because that doesn’t spell crazy.” Lambert muttered to himself.

“Beasts. Bears; beast oil, quen, igni, yrden. Dogs; beast oil. Panthers; beast oil. Wild Boars; northern wind, beast oil, igni, yrden. Wolves; beast oil. Cursed ones…”

“That’s enough.” Vesemir held up his hand, signalling the boy to stop. “Quite unusual.” He mumbled, getting up and retiring to the pot.

“What do you mean ’quite unusual’? He’s a fucking lunatic!” Lambert shouted, his brash voice echoing loudly off the walls.

“Because you’re completely sane, too?” The boy scoffed. “See, I was gonna tell you some important information, but since that blatant insult, I’ve decided you can do without it.”

“I can and I will.” Lambert stuck his tongue out childishly.

“Mhm. Mature… Uhh… If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask where my shoes are?”

“You’re inside. Why do you need shoes?” Lambert was genuinely confused.

“There’s rat shit everywhere, haven’t you realised?” The boy sassed. “No. They might have my name in them. On the tag maybe. I’m no pansy, I don’t think. Rat shit isn’t gonna kill me. It’s the fleas that’ll do that.”

“How so?” It was Vesemir’s turn to be confused.

“Bubonic plague. Wiped out most of Europe. I have no desire to fall prey to that or the pneumonic plague. I might be another helpless human in the path of the Catriona but I will not be another victim. If I go out, it’ll be fighting or of old age.” He finished his rant and crossed his arms, proud that he still retained some knowledge that didn’t relate to the witcher series.

“Witchers are immune to disease.” Lambert pointed out. "And what the hell is the 'Catriona'?

“Well good for you. The rest of us are still gonna suffer, mate... What do you mean 'what's the Catriona'? What year is it?” Vesemir chuckled at the boy’s comment. After a while it turned into raucous laughter from Lambert. “I take it I’ve missed something?”

“You looked in the mirror lately?”

“There something wrong with my face? I have to say I don’t know what I look like.” He patted his pockets, searching for something. "And I still don't know what year it is." A look of panic was plastered over his face, distorting his features, his eyes growing wild as he frantically turned the pockets of his tracksuit pants inside out.

“My phone! I’ve lost my phone! Wait… Do I even have a phone?”

“Phone?” Lambert asked, perplexed.

“Kinda like a xenovox and a megascope in one. Small, rectangular. Did I fall with it?”

“You fell with a bag.” Vesemir interjected.

“Even better. Where is it?” He got up from the bench.

“Lambert why don’t you take him to it?” Vesemir gave the order in the form of a polite question.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“It wasn’t a request, Lambert. Go get the bag. Actually, boy, stay here, best to leave Lambert to his grumpy mood.”

“Hm. Probably right.” He agreed and plonked himself back down on the bench, watching Vesemir cook and awaiting his bag. After a minute of silence, Vesemir turned to the boy. 

"To answer your question, it's 1264." 

 

* * *

 

 

“One bright blue and black bag. Weirder than rock troll reproduction.” Lambert threw the bag at the boy’s feet.

“Is that a common phrase? Do I want to know what you’re talking about?”

“No. No you don’t.” Lambert shivered at the memory of finding out. It had been a sunny, bright day at Kaer Morhen, a rare phenomenon. The bees were buzzing, the birds chirping, the forktails were keeping to themselves. Papa Vesemir had decided that this beautiful day needed to be ruined by an in-depth lesson about monster reproduction, following the sex ed. class the the other day. Lambert forever questioned why they were subjected to that. Why the drawings? Why the graphic detail? Why did they need to know this? He snapped out of his flashback as the boy emitted a loud yell of happiness.

“My phone!” He held up a small, black rectangular object. Lambert went to have a closer look at it. The boy hit a button and the screen lit up, giving off a bright blue light. There was a simple line drawing, that obviously required no finesse, on the ‘phone’. Lambert recognized the face immediately and laughed.

“Is that… is that a drawing of Geralt?”

“I think so. Don’t tell him.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Dang it.” He saw that the day was the 1st of September and the time was 5:57pm. He couldn’t tell if it meant this year or… what was the year? He thought he came from some time in the 21st century, but this didn’t look like the 21st century.  
“Let’s hope it remembers my finger print because I cannot remember the password for the life of me.” It buzzed. Try again. _Oh well, maybe the next time._ Buzz. Try again. Buzz. Try again. The boy cursed at it and just typed randomly on the keypad, whatever his reflex was it could probably be it. _Open. Hell yeah. Maybe something in notes? Am I some sort of poet? These are terrible._  
“Get this. “If you think that darkness can overcome light, then you’ve never taken a torch into a dark room?”” The boy scoffed.

“What the fuck? You a bard?” Lambert seemed genuinely disgusted by this.

“Maybe? I don’t think so. Maybe something in photos.” He scrolled through the many, many screenshots from tumblr. Through the many, many embarrassing photos of Geralt. Through the photos of a wolf medallion. He fumbled for the one around his neck, checking it was there. It was somewhat different to the medallions of the witchers, and he knew it was a fake. It was too dark, the chain different, the ringlet that connected the wolf’s head to the chain was too small, it twisted in weird ways, often poking his chest with its nose. He took it off and pocketed it, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t be wearing it around people who actually earned it. Back to the pictures. He came across a photo of him with cat eyes, obviously edited.  
“That’s me then? Minus the cat eyes, I take it.” Lambert chuckled. There was definitely something wrong with his face then. He scrolled up to find unedited selfies with friends? Maybe? Probably.  
“Ah. Brown eyes.” Lambert chuckled again. Maybe half his face was gone or something from the fall. What could be so funny? He opened up the camera, turning it around to face him. _Oh, god. Double chin. Wait, bring it up. Cat eyes._ The boy dropped the phone, realised his mistake, caught it mid air, turned it off and locked it back in his bag.  
“Oh. I take it something else happened. Aren’t I like way too old to undergo the trial? Actually how old am I?”

“You look about fifteen – sixteen? Somewhere there. And yes. Usually the boys we put through the trial are about 10. But you brought this on yourself. I carried you in here and you underwent it. Yourself. Jars and potions flying off the shelves. Nearly took me out five times. In all my years I’ve never seen that.” Vesemir shook his head and returned to stirring the pot.

“And how many years is that?” Lambert joked.

“About three centuries.” The boy replied without a thought. Vesemir grumbled. “Geralt and Eskel are about, what, eighty? Late seventies? And you, Lambert, are the youngest, you can be no younger than twenty, I think, give or take a few years from each since I’m bad at maths. You’re about forty when Witcher 3 starts.”

“The Witcher 3?”

“Wild Hunt. A game. I’ll explain later once I’ve looked through this book.” He took out a sketchbook, or a note book… Something of the sort. It was black with yellow writing on the front. It had the name ‘Bain’ in the name box, but different names on the drawings. Always the same last name though. A name that came up more than most was Caßiel. Yes. That will be his name. Caßiel.  
“Caßiel.” He murmured. “That’s who I am.”

“So Cas. I’m not saying a long name. You’re Cas.”

“I got no objections.” Cas agreed with Lambert that the name was indeed a mouthful.

“Is that another drawing of Geralt?”

“Maybe. It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Oi! I might’ve drawn that.”

“Who’s that guy he’s with.”

“Regis.”

 

* * *

 

 

Recovering from the fall was Cas’ priority, though the young witcher was impatient to start training. He poured over ancient tomes describing monsters that he had never heard of, and rattled on incessantly about how the tomes did higher vampires no justice. He grew quiet after a while, sometimes he would explain certain things about his behavior; (“It’s… It’s a fist bump, Eskel. Just… Never mind.”) Or he would mumble to himself. Vesemir had sent out a letter to Geralt a while ago, deeming it time that he learnt how to train young witchers, should he ever get a child of surprise. Besides, Vesemir wanted to see Geralt again. It had been too long, not to mention he had learnt quite a bit about him from Cas who seemed to know him even better than Eskel. He was starting to wonder if this boy was a stalker. Vesemir may not be physically training Cas, but he did oversee his study. Academically, Cas was brilliant. He knew somewhat complicated math and he could read and write, a skill he had often had to teach young witchers. He was good at taking notes, and forsook the quill for something called a ‘pen’. Vesemir wasn’t going to argue. He wondered about Cas. The young witcher would often ask if there was a test or examination coming up on this information. Vesemir had never considered testing his students; the real test was when they actually went to fight the monster. He wasn’t about to stray from his ways. Cas may have been a good and quick study but he got bored easily, he built up energy, didn’t concentrate, read entire pages and didn’t retain a word of information. He was even a bad listener, not that he didn’t have good hearing, no, he could tell you what was happening over the other side of he mountain, but Gods forbid you ask him a question. The conversations often went like this; “What is your opinion on Alghouls?”

“Pardon? Repeat the question?”

“What is your-”

“They’re just more annoying, more powerful ghouls. I mean, if you kill them before they release their spikes then you don’t even have to use axii.” Vesemir was convinced there was something wrong with him. The medallion which he had fallen with was downgraded from a necklace to a bookmark. It seemed Cas was embarrassed to wear it in front of the other witchers. Vesemir cringed every time he took it off. A witcher would rather die than be separated from his medallion. Not that Cas had earned his. There was one necklace, however, that Cas never took off; an onyx pendant with angel wings, crudely made, possibly with his own hands, but never taken off. Every chance Cas got, he pawed through the note book, or emptied out his bag, sometimes stared in the mirror, possibly wondering who he was. His hair was longer than it had been when he had fallen, his side fringe coming down to his cheek. The roots of his hair were white, soon enough he’d get a haircut and all the brown would be gone, making way for completely white hair, even his eye brows were turning white though in an act of desperation Cas had darkened them to retain his sarcastic eyebrow arches that seemed to make up the majority of his emotional expression. Vesemir found him bitching about the cold next to the fire place with Lambert. Each were covered with masses of blankets and both had weird hats on their heads.

“Why are you wearing tea cozies for hats?” Vesemir interrupted their childish whining.

“They’re called beanies. Keeping your vital organs warm, such as the brain, heart, so on, so forth, will keep your limbs warm as it keeps the blood circulating.”

“You’re both wusses.” Eskel contributed to the conversation. It was the most he had said in three hours.

“No, it’s like -30 or some shit how do you live like this? Give me 45-degree weather over this any day.”

A boom, a crash, some swearing, a rushed apology.

“Geralt’s home.” Eskel grunted through the last of his beer.


	2. The Smith of Vife had a Wife, Where is She Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Cas' contracts set in the year after he leaves Kaer Morhen. Yes, the time jumps around a lot.

Wind whipped around the man, his cloak flapping aggressively, startling the peasants who watched him with unchecked fear and disdain. The man’s horse walked slowly, every step splashing its flanks with mud. He stopped, dismounting his horse. “Where’s the alderman?” His low, gravelly voice broke through the silence. No one answered. “Someone better tell me before I bite.” One of the peasants of Vife gulped and stammered as he spoke.

“O’er th-there, sir. I-in the hut. That ‘un.” He pointed one calloused finger in the direction of a shabby hut with rhododendrons in the flowerbeds.

“Ta.” The man drew back his hood, revealing a shock of white hair, startlingly bright against his black attire, one brown streak was visible, just behind his ear, but it went unnoticed by many of the peasants as they busied themselves with separating to make a path for the man. Moving carefully, he picked his way through the crowd that had assembled upon his arrival. He didn’t bother knocking on the hut’s door, didn’t hesitate to go inside, just barged in like he owned the place. The man, presumably the alderman, inside the hut was busy stuffing his face, cramming as much food as he could into his mouth. The white haired man smelt scones. Now he was hungry. “Heard you got a monster that needs killing.” The witcher announced his arrival and the man chocked, coughing. The witcher hit him gently on the back, being careful not to hurt his possible employer, and successfully dislodging the scone. “Sorry. You good now?” The man nodded and retreated from the witcher’s touch as if burned.

“What seek ye here, sorcerer?”

“Heard you’ve got a monster problem. Well I’m the exterminator.”

“You heard right. What’s your price?”

“Need to know some more information before we agree on a price.”

“What do you wanna know?” The alderman sat down, stuffing his pipe with tobacco.

“Anyone see it?”

“Aye. Right before they kicked the bucket.”

“Because that’s so useful to me.” He sighed. “Know what it is?”

“Tis an untold horror.”

“Again, really useful information. I’ll give you a price on ‘untold horrors’ and prepare my miscellaneous oil.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know anything? Anything at all about this monster? Where does it kill? How does it kill? Does it only kill at night? Or does it have a specific type of person it kills?”

“We meant to know anything? You’re the witcher.”

“Yes, I’m a witcher. Not a bloody mind reader. I can’t come into a town and know exactly what’s been killing folk without any information. Just… Have you buried the bodies?”

“Nay. We’s doing that tomorrow, but don’t ye go ferreting around in the bodies. Ye don’t need t’ see them.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Why don’t you want me seeing the bodies? If you want this solved, then you’d best listen to me. Unless you don’t want this solved and I’ll be on my merry way.” The alderman puffed up his chest, huffed and grumbled some slurs and other obscenities under his breath. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Got very sensitive hearing.” The alderman grumbled again as he furrowed his brow and stood up, limping his way over to the door in the interest of showing the witcher where the bodies were.

“Ye got a name, master witcher?”

“Caßiel.”

“Of?”

“Nowhere. Nowhere that’d make any sense to you.”

“Callin’ me uneducated? I don’t know your accent, true, but I ought to recognize the name of the place.”

“I doubt it.”

“Humor me.”

“Australia.” There was no look of recognition in the man’s eyes, and Cas didn’t expect there to be. When you come from a different universe, you stop expecting people to know simple things. Like what showers are. Cas tried not to bat the offensive stench of the peasants from the air around his nose. The bodies were piled behind the herbalist’s hut. The pile reached Cas’s shoulder and he was starting to worry. He lifted a body off the stack and put it on the ground. “Hm. Healthy, young, male. Shit, almost a kid. Wedding ring on his finger. Why the hell does everyone marry so young? Pneumonia - cause of death. But what’s this? Bite marks on the neck? Something sapped him of his strength. Fed on him. Probably while sleeping. Alp? Maybe a nightwraith? Shit. Not enough to go on.” Cas stood up, taking another body to make sure he was on the right track. He was. He turned to the alderman. “Need to know, any deaths before this all started? Possibly young women. Killed brutally? Committed suicide?”

“Nay. None such thing happened round here since me grandfather’s grandfather, sir.”

“And what about pale, shapely women?”

“Aye, plenty. But don’t be putting your paws on them.”

“Don’t worry. Last thing I wanna do right now. Where did these people die?”

“In their homes and the grain field. Other side of the pond. Now the rate?”

“I’ll tell you when I know if it’s an alp or a nightwraith.” Cas doubted the alderman could afford the bounty on both. He sighed and made his way over to the nearest hut.

“Hmm. All male corpses… Interesting. Bitemarks look like a vampire, but still not enough to go on.” He took a flask from his pouch and downed the rest of his vodka. _I’m gonna need this to deal with the alderman._ “Anyone die in this one?” He asked.

“Aye. The smith. Why?”

“Wanna investigate.” The alderman went red and puffed out his cheeks.

“Well I hardly see why that’s necessary. Why go disturbing the dead’s property?” Cas sighed and shook his flask. None left.

“Did you train at a witcher school? No? Then shut up and let me work.” Cas turned around dramatically and walked into the hut, leaving the alderman stewing outside. Cas found himself in a rather depressing hut. A pile of women’s pants was haphazardly thrown in the corner and the bed was upturned against the window. A cabinet was pushed over onto the floor and a fire poker was thrown in the middle of the floor. Cas closed the door behind him and turned around. A line of salt was scattered at the door and the handle was busted. He traced his fingers over the dent in the door. He turned to the fire poker and crouched down. Picking it up, he noticed a hunk of wood stuck on the end. It fit perfectly in the dent in the door. “So… Used the poker to barricade the door. Salt line may have worked in my world, but not here. He blocked the windows off… Scuff marks on the floorboards. He was running from something…” Cas looked around and noticed a shrine in one corner. “Superstitious man. What’s this?” Cas tapped his finger on the place clear of dust. “Picture used to sit here maybe?” Cas hummed and looked to where the body had been. Middle of the floor, throat was slit and he bled out… Could have been a murderer but the amount of corpses… and the amount of weapons in the room… “It’s a monster. Gotta be.” Cas went to walk out when a floorboard creaked under his foot. “Loose floorboard means treasure.” Cas chuckled and wrenched it out of the floor. He huffed a disappointed sigh as he pulled out a bloody knife and a picture in a frame. It was a woman and a man. Cas noticed the wedding rings on their fingers. “Smith had a wife? Like to talk to her.” He pocketed the picture and walked outside. The alderman was still standing there. He had lit his pipe and was angrily puffing away.

“So? Find anything? I thought not.” He grumbled, not looking at Cas.

“Actually did find something.” The alderman looked startled. “Bloody knife, and a picture of the smith and his wife. Found in the floorboards. Need to talk to her.”

“The smith never had a wife. Give me that!” The alderman wrestled the picture out of Cas’ hands. “Now don’t go ferreting around in the other huts, you hear me?” Cas huffed and dragged his hands over his face.

“Sure thing, mate.” Cas flipped him off when the alderman turned. _Fuck you._


	3. Of Idiocy and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is an idiot.
> 
> (We know this already but just you wait.)

Cas shed the blankets and looked around, eager to catch a glimpse of the white wolf. He fiddled with the medallion in his pocket absentmindedly as he tried to look somewhat dignified. Lambert groaned behind him, standing up with the blankets and sneakily stealing one of Cas’. The youngest witcher couldn’t care less as he had spotted the other white haired witcher following Coën through the front doors. The patter of little feet drew his attention as he realised that this must be the autumn that Ciri joined them. He ran a hand through his multicoloured hair as he tried to calm his nerves. How would he go about talking to Ciri? How do you talk to a traumatised child? His thoughts were cut short as the elder witchers greeted each other warmly. Cas stood still as a pole, barely daring to breathe as Geralt neared him. Geralt seemed to study him for a while, eyes cold and calculating, sparing no detail, his slightly plumper face showing his privileged childhood, lack of muscle, scars, and medallion, white hairline, and his eyes which eluded to his undergoing of the trial. He could see the gears in Geralt’s eyes turning as he read Cas’ life through his face. “N…” Cas cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand awkwardly. To his surprise, Geralt didn’t shun it but instead shook his hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you too…”

“Cas.”

“Cas.” Geralt stepped back from him and introduced Ciri to everyone, strangely not using her name, but instead stating that she was everyone’s destiny. She sat awkwardly and quietly, the stench of fear rolling off her in waves. Cas doubted he could help with this, would probably make it worse, but he had to try something. Geralt wasn’t exactly doing a bang up job at calming her. He sat down next to Ciri on the bench and smiled kindly.

“You tired?” She didn’t respond.                                                                                            “It’s okay. I don’t bite. I’m not even allowed to hold a sword yet. I mean, look at me…” He chuckled as Ciri smiled shyly.

“You’re Cas?” Her high childish voice startled Cas as he only remembered her as a young woman. One of his only memories.

“Yep. And you’re Ciri.” The little girl nodded her head.                                                        “Okay, Ciri, I’m not the best story teller, but wanna hear one?” She said nothing but shifted her body around to give him her full attention. Cas reached into the back of his head for something to make a story of, as far as he knew he was good at these things. He just had to make her feel welcome. Something came to him that he was sure wasn’t of his own invention. A picture in his head, a memory? Something came forth. A book, poems, kind of. Shakespeare. Faries. Perfect.                                                                                                                        “In a sunny, summer garden in ancient…uh… Toussaint, a duke and his betrothed were discussing their wedding. He came to her and, taking her by the hand, startled the white rose from her fingers, letting it fall gracefully to the ground. This man, Theseus, the duke, said unto Hippolyta; “Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace. Four happy days bring in another moon. But oh, methinks how slow this old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, like to a stepdame or a dowager long withering out a young man’s revenue.” She smiles prettily and says; “Four days will quickly steep themselves in night. Four nights will quickly dream away the time. And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.”…”

“Do they get married?”

“If I tell you that, it’ll ruin the story.” Cas winked and put his finger to his lips. He was sincerely impressed that Ciri could understand he nonsense he was spouting, he understood not half himself. Internally, he was panicking.                                                                                    “Theseus then turns to his servant and says; “Go, Philostrate, stir up the Beauclairois youth to merriments. Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth. Turn melancholy forth to funerals. The pale companion is not for our pomp.” And Philostrate goes. Theseus turns to Hippolyta. “Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword and won thy love doing thee injuries. But I will wed thee in another key, with pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.” Hark! A man! Lord Egeus and his daughter, Hermia, accompanied by Lysander and Demetrius approaches Theseus. “Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke” Egeus exclaimed. “Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?”…” And so it went on like that, Cas telling the story of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Ciri listening intently, laughing when he got up to act out Puck’s parts. Cas was scared that the first thing he remembered wasn’t even if Cas really was his name, but was a Shakespearian story he had been forced to read time and time again. By the end of his performance, the witchers had gathered to listen and watch in amusement as Cas danced around his makeshift stage. He was fully aware of how ridiculous he seemed to the witchers and how every line he said was impulse. And admittedly, he made the majority of the middle up, only speaking a few lines correctly. But with Ciri laughing, it didn’t really matter. “If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended – that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearnèd luck now to ‘scape the serpents tongue, we will make amends ere long. Else the Puck, a liar call. So good night unto you all. Give me your hands if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.” He beckoned Ciri to the stage and took her hand and lifted it so she could bow alongside him. She giggled and twirled in her dress, tugging at Cas’ sleeve to do her spinning dance. Geralt watched on as the Child of Surprise and the boy he was meant to train spun around the pillars. _What have I gotten myself into?_ Ciri and Cas walked back over to the table, sitting down with the rest of the witchers.

“M thirsty.” Ciri mumbled as she pulled the pitcher of white seagull over to herself and drank it all in one, fluid motion.

 

* * *

 

“No! Wrong! Footwork! Cas for the love of… Turn! Half pirouette! Dodge! Attack! Faster!” Lambert yelled over the rain. Cas grunted through the pain of aching muscles and the shoulder he accidentally cut by swinging his sword like a tennis racket. He didn’t dare tell Lambert. _You should know by now, Lambert, that I don’t take kindly or react well to your so called ‘constructive criticism’._ Cas swung his sword faster with every word of thought. Ciri was taking a break, watching him and laughing every time he made a mistake. It had been a month since Geralt had returned to Kaer Morhen with little Ciri in tow and Ciri was fitting in nicely. She trained hard with Cas and was honestly doing better than him in Cas’ eyes. She and Cas had grown close since they started training together. They would often hunt rats and Cas had taken to calling her “lil’ sis” or sometimes “She wolf”. He was so lost in thought that he faltered, stumbled, and quickly turned it into a dodge to avoid Lambert’s yelling. “For fuck sake, Cas.” Lambert sighed, wiping his hand down his face. “Just take a break. Wait ‘til Geralt gets back so you can tackle the pendulums.” He shook his head, and walked off presumably back to the keep to get out of the cold. Cas plopped down next to Ciri.

“You didn’t do that badly.”

“You think so?” Cas smiled at Ciri hopefully. He thought he did terribly.

“Yeah. Lambert’s just sore about the cold.”

“I think it’s us that are sore. If I have to run the killer one more time, Imma hurt something.” Cas chuckled at that.

“We run it every day.”

“And my thighs are killing me.” Cas rubbed his thighs to prove a point.

“But you’ve got mutations. How can they hurt?”

“Shh. Geralt’s coming.” Cas leant back on the pillar, forgetting the sword on his back and hitting himself in the head. Ciri laughed at him.

“You two ready to tackle the pendulums?”

“You want the truth or a kind lie?” Cas asked.

“Truth” Geralt decided.

“I’m never ready and I hate the pendulums.”

 

* * *

 

Cas looked at his arm. His skin was pale, almost grey. Was he sick? No. He didn’t feel sick. He rubbed his wrists, thin scars standing out even more against his unusually pale skin. Cas slid his retainer out of his mouth. _Damn. Why does it hurt?_ He touched his teeth. They felt… wobbly? Maybe it was the retainer? His retainer had always fit before. Or so he thought. He had no idea why he was still wearing this thing. It’s not like there’s an orthodontist around to tell him when to stop wearing it. _Might as well look in the mirror. See that I’m not just being a little bitch._ He walked into Ciri’s room, placing himself in front of the mirror. _That’s unusual. Can mirrors break like that?_ He touched the mirror, where was his reflection? His heart started racing, panic setting in. He raced to the other rooms, checking in every mirror. _Oh no! What about my narcissistic tendencies?_ He touched his face, only his clothing was reflected in the mirror. This was bad. Very, very bad. He mustn’t let the other witchers know. He didn’t want to be on the other edge of their blades. He’d have to tell them at some point but not now. Cas punched the mirror in a fit of rage, bloodying his knuckles. They didn’t repair like a higher vampire. Maybe he was somewhat normal? _Fat chance._

 

* * *

 

Cas screamed as he woke, his mouth on fire. He felt one of his teeth come loose and fall into his lap. He felt his remaining teeth, all loose. And the bleeding holes where his teeth had fallen out of already had the stumps of much sharper teeth. Fangs. He curled up on his side and waited for it to be over. _After all the money I must have spent on the orthodontist…_ He wondered how he hadn’t woken the other witchers. A mystery for another time.

 

* * *

 

Cas was lost. He had been running the killer, he tripped, fell, and slipped down a small ravine. He tumbled down, cutting his clothing on briars and scraping his skin on rocks. He landed, hitting his head on the ground. He heard buzzing and rolled over onto his back. He saw white spots. He awoke hours later, it was dark, he was scared, and he felt like he had the worst hangover of his life. Suddenly a memory of getting hit with a surfboard over and over again surfaced and the headache that resulted from that. He groaned and slowly rose to his feet. He had wandered, confused for a few minutes before realising that he had no idea where he was. _Great. Just perfect._ He became lost in thought, attempting to review maps in his head, and pondering the memory, and as a result, didn’t hear the bear coming. He turned last minute, the bear’s paws were raised in the air, Cas knew it could kill him. But he couldn’t move. His eyes widened in fear and instinct finally kicked in. He felt his body shift, felt searing pain through his muscles as he turned to mist, floating out of the way of the bear. He fled, not sure how to turn back. He flew high enough to see the fortress, and sped there, crash landing at the gates, turning back into his usual humanoid form a few meters from the ground. He groaned and rolled over. _This can’t get any worse. Can’t know about this._ He fainted.

 

* * *

 

“Look, Ciri, we’ve trained for what now? 14 months? I’m good. I know I’m good. I just need to prove it. So if you keep quiet about the plan, I’ll bring you back a bear pelt to hang in your room. Deal?” _I'll track down that fucker that almost killed me._

“I dunno, Cas.” Ciri didn’t want Cas to get hurt… but she really wanted that bear skin.

“C’mon. I’ve got a list. A plan! I’ll be fine.”

“Only if you bring me back the bear pelt _and_ a wolf pelt.”

“Deal.” They shook on it. Cas checked his swords, skimming the silver one to make sure it was as sharp as he needed it. He made an inventory check, Swallow, check, Moondust, check, Relict Oil, check, elemental oil… iffy, but there. He hoped he’d only need that. He listened as Ciri made her way back to the keep. “Time to get this over with.” He mounted a horse and sped out of the fortress, ignoring the skeletons on the other side of the wall. Once he was a way away he looked at his list. “Mmk. So we have a few wraiths to deal with, then a leshen. If I don’t go up that way then I won’t have to deal with harpies and if I stick to the road I can avoid wolves altogether.” He set off west of Kaer Morhen towards the bastion, arriving all too soon in his eyes. He dropped off the horse a way back and waltzed up to the building, pausing at the gate. He drew his silver sword as he saw a green light float around the corner. He leapt towards the wraith, blade slicing through it’s body. That was a lot easier than he anticipated. “Wraiths are a lot uglier in real life.” He felt the cold, unforgiving bite of steel on his cheek. _Wrong thing to say! Wrong thing to say!_ He rolled out of the way of another blow, stood up and dodged again, jumping over a burnt plank, and landing firmly on his feet. He circled the wraith, making sure to lack all rhythm. It disappeared and reappeared behind him, he anticipated it and dodged, he quickly impaled the wraith and it disappeared. Cas took one gloved hand to his face, touching his cheek just beneath his cheekbone, his hand came away red with blood. Great. He ignored he pain as he dug through the wreck of an old wooden building. _Bingo! The diagram for the wolven steel sword. Nice._ He pocketed it and took a discarded shovel off the ground, planning to dig the hole prior to getting the boy’s corpse. “Ah, there you are. Let’s get you down there and in the hole before the wraiths kill me.” He talked to the pile of bones like a crazy person as he picked them up. He slid effortlessly down the two ladders and rushed to the hole before the wraiths showed themselves. Arranging the skeleton neatly, he said a few words and dumped the dirt back into the hole and shoved the two swords he’d found into the earth above the boy’s head. A witcher’s grave. Cas tore off towards the ruined mage’s tower overlooking Kaer Morhen. The young witcher took down the erynia there with Aard and a quick sword to the gut, taking the head as proof and as a nice bonus for Ciri. The tower was positioned on the edge of a very sheer cliff. Looking down, the young witcher got a feeling of vertigo. He swallowed his newfound fear of heights and shuffled along the rickety wooden beam on the outside of the tower, quickly taking the power cell and rushing back to solid ground. He activated both the power cells with Aard and heard the tell-tale sound of the portal being opened. He steeled himself, jumping off the tower and through the portal which was suspended in mid air. He had but a moment to appreciate the scenery before the cold, constricting darkness took him. _I’m gonna fucking die._

 

* * *

 

Vesemir was having a good day. The sun was shining, youngsters training, Lambert hadn’t cussed at him… yet. He stood on the balcony, taking in the sun’s golden rays when he heard a portal. Damn sorceresses. It wasn’t sorceresses. The portal had opened near the old tower. Odd. A figure, a yell, and the portal disappeared. Vesemir looked at the empty air, confused. Realisation flashed in his eyes. He studied the people training. No Cas. Shit. “Lambert! Where’s Cas?”

“How should I know? Thought he was with you.” Vesemir sighed and sent Lambert out after Cas, having no doubt that it had been the young witcher who had activated the portal and then jumped in. He looked at the pile of teeth he had retrieved from Cas’ chest. Something ill is afoot.

 

* * *

 

Cas sliced the head off the leshen with one hard swing of his sword. Tough fucker. He went to walk away and felt a sharp sting on his back. _Must’ve got me. Dammit._ Cas uncapped his bottle of swallow and downed it. Fuck. Well at least I can barely feel it now! He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of a horse galloping in his direction. _So, Vesemir is more observant than I thought. Means I’m in trouble._ He grabbed the head off the ground and fastened it to his horse, jumping on and racing off, hoping he could make it to his destination before whoever was after him caught him. He saw the ruined tower as he rounded the corner and spurred the horse on for one final burst of speed, leaping off he horse, he saw the wraith and drew his sword, running through the arch of the doorway, fully intending to smite the wraith before anyone found him. He ignored the mild pain in his back as he swung his sword, it collided with the wraith’s sword, making a fantastic clang. He rolled to one side as the wraith spun haphazardly with it’s sword, hoping to hit something. Cas ducked as it barely missed his head and flipped out of the way to avoid an upward swing. He dodged the wraith’s next attack and brought his sword to the wraith’s torso, slicing through the wraith’s visage. He heard footsteps behind him. _Fucking fantastic._

 

* * *

 

Lambert raced out of the keep. What the hell was Cas doing? There were monsters everywhere here and he had barely got to hold a sword. In other words, Cas was still not ready to fight monsters. Not for another few years, maybe. He passed a skinned bear and a dead leshen, trailing Cas expertly. He heard the sound of a wraith dying as he ran through the arch of the ruined tower. Cas was there, sword still poised from where it sliced the wraith in two. His face was slick with blood and as he moved to stand normally, it seemed his back was hurt. Cas ignored Lambert, going to the nearest skeleton and plying a piece of parchment from it’s grasp. “What the ever-loving fuck, Cas?” The young witcher said nothing, merely handed the bag he was carrying over to Lambert. “What's this?”

“Look inside.” Lambert took the parchment out of the bag, unrolling it. “I recovered some old diagrams. You can thank me later.” Cas rubbed his thigh, a nekker got him there when he went to the old cave where the original trials were held. He had managed to achieve quite a lot while Lambert was procrastinating going after him. Cas giggled. “Ahh… I should be dead.” Lambert shoved the parchment back into the bag and threw it at Cas.

“Going back to the keep. C’mon.”

 

* * *

 

“I hope you have a good explanation, young man. Young blood craves action, I understand this. But what were you thinking? Picking fights with monsters? Unwise.” Vesemir scolded.

“No. Productive.” Cas threw the leshen’s head at Vesemir’s feet.

“A leshen? Why kill it? You didn’t even have a contract.”

“It annoyed me. Spooked my horse when I was coming back from the cave where the Trial of the Grasses was first held. Besides, it was surrounded by wolves. Needed a wolf pelt for Ciri.”

“Why in the world would you go there?”

“These.” Cas tossed the diagrams at Vesemir, turning away. “I expect you’ll want my swords to make sure I don’t do this again.” He unsheathed his steel sword and tossed it at Vesemir’s feet along with the leshen trophy. He heard footsteps, Ciri and Geralt running the walls. Great so now they can see how pissed off Vesemir is too. Cas unsheathed his silver sword, but kept it in his hand.

“How did you find these? Priceless diagrams… They were lost, we had no idea…” His sentence was cut off by a loud flapping. _Forktail._ Cas spotted it above the keep. _Must've followed me from the tower. I should really, really be dead._ The rest of the witchers drew their swords and Vesemir pushed Cas back.

“Let me go. I can handle this.”

“You can’t handle shit.” Cas ducked underneath Vesemir’s arm, running to a wall and casting a particularly powerful Aard, propelling himself into the air. He met the forktail and clutched at it’s wing, pulling himself onto its back. He held onto its horn for dear life as he brought his sword to the thin membrane of its wings, slashing them. He attempted to dodge an attack from the tail but was hit. _Crap. Oh, no, no, no, no._ He cast quen as the forktail fell, its wings flailing uselessly. Cas leapt from its back at the last possible second, rolling as he hit the ground. Vesemir scowled at him, how dare he ignore a command. He was only mildly concerned with Cas’ wellbeing. From what Cas had just done, he deserved to be hurt. Cas groaned in pain, but still stood up and picked up his sword. By this time Coën, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert were surrounding the forktail and Ciri was hid behind Vesemir. Cas rushed to join them. Unfortunately, the forktail recognised Cas and went after him. It swung its claws in a sweeping half circle, barely missing the young witcher and at the same time turning and swinging its tail at the older witchers who smartly jumped back. Cas, however, was preoccupied with its claws and didn’t notice until it was too late. The tail hit his chest, cutting through his thin shirt and making a neat slice up to his collar bone. Cas again ignored the pain as he spun out of the way of its claws. He fought the urge to turn to mist and take his claws to its neck. As he was thinking about that, he didn’t see the head of the draconid as it snaked closer. He felt its mouth close around his arm and he yelled, quickly passing his sword to his left hand and shoving it through its eye. This did little to distract it At this point Eskel leapt in, slashing the forktail’s throat with his razor-sharp silver sword. The forktail let out a frightening screech, releasing Cas, as it crashed to the ground. Its last breaths bubbling as its blood slowly let.

“Nice.” Ciri ran up to Eskel, holding her hand out for a high five. Cas walked over to them.

“Thanks, Eskel.” Cas muttered, embarrassed at his failure to really damage the forktail. Eskel nodded at the young witcher. Cas turned to Ciri and took on a decidedly more upbeat tone. “As for your reward, She-wolf, the bear skin and wolf skin.” He tugged the pelts off his horse with his good arm and put them at Ciri’s feet. “As well as a erynia trophy.” She mumbled her thanks as she studied the gruesome face of the erynia. Vesemir snatched Cas’ sword from his hand. Cas put up his good hand, surrendering.

“You will go back to the keep and stay there until we figure out what to do with you.”

“I tried to help kill it. Well, I got its wings. You saw it.”

“You almost died three times there! And you’re still not out of the clear!”

“Yeah. Believe me, I know. I feel the poison. But I’m not dead yet.”

“That’s no excuse.” Vesemir growled. He wrestled the moondust bombs from Cas’ belt. “Going into battle with no armor, minimal potions, and almost no training. Foolish. You should be long dead. Go to the keep. Geralt, get his wounds dressed and send him to polish the swords. Go!” Cas sent a sneer in Vesemir’s direction and stomped off towards the keep, kicking the forktail’s head out of his way, the back of the neck cracking sickeningly. As he stormed away, he could hear Vesemir instructing Coën to help Ciri with the pelts.

 

* * *

 

“Cas, what the hell were you thinking?” Geralt demanded.

“Save it, Geralt. Vesemir already gave me the lecture.” Cas sat down heavily on one of the beds, bending over so Geralt could get a better angle on his back.

“Asked you a question.” Geralt was insistent.

“I… Ugh… I haven’t been improving. Not for some months now. Vesemir refused to let me at harder tasks, so I thought maybe I could persuade him. Check some things off along the way.”

“So you went off on a suicide mission?”

“No. I set off to bury a boy’s bones at the bastion, dispelled the wraiths there. One sliced up my cheek. Uncovered a priceless diagram. Then for the ruined tower, killed the erynia, got more wolven diagrams, and killed the wraith down there too. That one got my shoulder… Agh. You don’t wanna hear this. It’s hardly an exciting adventure.”

“Tell me. Could use some distraction while I patch up your back.”

“Well then I went to the cave in the hills, killed a group of nekkers and two rotfiends, they got my back and my thigh, retrieved some information and a diagram. Then I killed the leshen, which got my- Aah! Easy on the alcohol, dude! -chest and calf. Then I heard Lambert trailing me so I raced off for the ruined tower. I killed the wraith and got the diagram. Then I came here and you saw the rest of the story.”

“You realize Vesemir won’t allow you to train again for a while now.”

“Vesemir can’t stop me from doing anything…”

“Mmhmm sure thing. One thing puzzling me though, you shouldn’t be able to fight with this amount of pain. Is this another weird thing from, where was it? Australia?” Cas chuckled.

“Nah, man. I am so fucking doped up right now, couldn’t feel it if I wanted to.” Geralt startled as he saw Cas’ back heal right in front of his eyes. “Geralt. Can I tell you something?”

“Go… go ahead.”

“The mirrors are broken.” Cas’ cut under his cheekbone scarred over as he turned to face Geralt.

“What do you mean? You shatter them?” Geralt’s instincts were screaming at him. _Cas wasn’t human. Monster. Monster. Monster. Regenerative abilities. Pronounced fangs. Why didn’t I see this before? Higher vampire. Can’t kill. Best chance is Moondust, but does he even react to silver? Get the hell out of there._

“No. I just…. This is stupid, but… I have no reflection.”

 

* * *

 

Cas sniffed the air. He was in confinement. Well, he had free range of the keep, but he was still in confinement. A smell was wafting through from Ciri’s room. He immediately recognised it as blood. Had Ciri hurt herself? He knew he wasn’t meant to go near her since they didn’t even know what he was capable of yet. Higher vampire. He shivered. He wasn’t even human anymore. He couldn’t be classified as human, but he didn’t get burnt by silver, so he couldn’t be a real vampire. He didn’t know what exactly he was and neither did the witchers, which meant quarantine. He neared Ciri’s room, it was dark but he could see perfectly. The bear skin was used as a rug and the fur was soft beneath his feet. The wolf pelt was hanging above her bed. He heard a sniffle from the pile of blankets.

“Psst. Ciri.” She startled, wiping tears from her cheeks and sitting up. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Cas lit the candles next to the bed and sat down. He still had no idea how they functioned with hay instead of mattresses.

“No… not hurt. I’m fine.”

“Really? I can smell blood. You’re obviously not okay.” Something dawned on Cas. “Oh! Oh. Ciri, you should have told us. C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He lead her to the kitchen where he boiled some water for her bath. Ciri stood awkwardly and silently.

“Cas. What is it?”

“Just your time of the month. Your… period… but you knew that. C’mon. Water’s cool enough.” She shed her clothing and hopped in, Cas turned around, giving her some privacy. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait here. Bathe. I’ll be back.” Cas walked out of the room and made a beeline for his bag, taking a menstrual pad out of one of the compartments. His mind flashed memories… He… No… He didn’t wanna believe it. He grabbed some Neurofen from another compartment and waked briskly back to Ciri, all the while attempting to repress what he just remembered. “Put a towel on when you’re ready and then get clean underwear. I’ll teach you how to… put on a… pad.” Even saying that he felt embarrassed.

 

* * *

 

Ciri slipped her dress on, already feeling much better from the painkillers. It was now morning and the rest of the witchers were bustling around the keep. “You good now?”

“I’m much better. Thanks, Cas.”

“No worries, She-wolf. I’ll talk to Vesemir. Don’t worry.” Cas hoped Vesemir would listen to him, but the old man had been ignoring him since his ‘little stunt’. Cas grit his teeth as the memories from last night resurfaced. _Whoo repressing that for sure._

 

* * *

 

“Vesemir. Stop ignoring me. I need to talk to you about Ciri.” Vesemir continued to have his back to Cas. The young witcher sighed and turned Vesemir around abruptly. “Listen to me, old man. This is about Ciri’s wellbeing.”

“Then she can tell me.”

“She wanted me to do this. It’s embarrassing for her. So will you listen?” Cas held Vesemir’s arm tighter, his supernatural strength aiding him in sending the message that Vesemir really didn’t have a choice. The old witcher grit his teeth as the already painful hold tightened.

“Fine. I’ll listen to what you have to say. As long as you’ve learnt your lesson.”

“Yeah. I learnt it. It was painful and now it’s mentally exhausting because you’ve kept me in the keep for like 3 weeks. Now. As you know, Ciri is coming of age. She has had her first bleed. I have helped as much as I can, but her cramps are bad. Much worse than they should be. She can’t train until it stops. She should be having more variety in her diet, not the mushrooms you’ve been feeding her. I know you’ve summoned Triss. She will tell you the same. So if you won’t listen to me, then listen to her.”

“Fine. I think that’s agreeable. But how would you know how bad they’re supposed to be?”

“I… Don’t wanna talk about it. Tell Geralt about Ciri. I’m going to run the killer. Don’t try to stop me. I need to do this.”

“Like hell you do.” Cas let go of Vesemir and walked briskly towards the door and instead of opening it, went right through the solid wood, turning into black fog. Vesemir was startled and somewhat glad the witcher/vampire hybrid was gone.


	4. Love at First Stab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do y'all want Koel? Well you got Koel.

Cas knelt down in the field. Shallow graves littered it. Alderman was lying to me. He thought as he cleared the dirt from a partially dug up skull. _Woman. Young. Split in her skull. Axe. He went to the next. Woman. Again young. Hung. Suicide? Here. A rope around her neck. So tight they couldn’t get it off. Decided to bury her with it._ “This entire place reeks of women turned nightwraiths. Shit. Gotta be multiple. Alderman isn’t going to be able to afford…” He stood in the field counting graves. 

“Twenty-five nightwraiths. Twenty-five? This some sort of massacre? Now that I think of it… all the peasants I saw, save for a few old women, were male. Hm. Aldermen said there were many women here. I guess he meant dead ones. So, to sum up, there are twenty-five dead women here, either brutally murdered or committed suicide. All in shallow, hastily dug graves. Something’s telling me this was a planned culling. Maybe they tempted the alderman too much? Need things that bind them to this place.” Cas started out towards the alderman’s hut. How the fuck was he gonna kill twenty-five nightwraiths?

 

* * *

 

Cas sneered at the alderman as he flipped a chair in anger. “YOU DID FUCKING WHAT?” Cas clenched his fists. He had to get control of himself before he punched the alderman. _Remember. He’s paying you. Get a hold of yourself, Cas._

 “I HAD TO! DON’T YOU SEE?”

 “NO. I DON’T SEE. THAT IS NOT A CRIME. YOU HAD NO REASON TO KILL THOSE WOMEN.”

 “THEY WANTED EQUAL RIGHTS!”

 “SO? THEY’RE HUMAN, ARN’T THEY? WHAT GIVES YOU THE GOD DAMN RIGHT TO KILL INNOCENT WOMEN WHO WERE PEACEFULLY PROTESTING YOUR SEXIST RULES?”

 “I HAVE EVERY RIGHT, I AM THE ALDERMAN.” Cas slapped him, hard, and clamped one hand down on the old man’s shoulder.

 “You listen here, you sexist fuckwad. You’ve created a breeding ground for nightwraiths. They’ve been attacking the men who killed them and once they’re strong enough, they’ll come for you. Now, I have no problem leaving you to their mercy.” The alderman tried to escape Cas’ grasp.    “Stop struggling. I estimate twenty-five nightwraiths. If you can afford that, which I’m sure you can’t, I’ll still see to it. You’re actually pretty lucky you don’t have a penitent or a hym. And, honestly, I’d rather you did because that would mean that you actually feel some fucking guilt for what you did.” Cas let the man go, pushing him into a chair. His head slumped, he wouldn’t meet Cas’ eye.

 “How much’ll it cost, mutant?” He gritted out.

 “Mind your manners. Let’s see. One nightwraith would cost… two hundred and eighty crowns to three hundred crowns and I’m not feeling particularly generous today. So let’s say three hundred crowns times twenty-five that’s… seven thousand five hundred crowns. How many nightwraiths can you afford?”

 “Three.” The man choked out.

 “Hm. Yeah. Not looking good for you. Maybe you can ask around other villages? Other groups of people.”

 “There’s a… uh… society… in the forest. They might be willing to help?”

 “Go check. I’ll be back in about two hours. See ya.” Cas waved over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Cas looked at the sun just above the horizon, if the alderman didn’t get here soon, the wraiths would start appearing and he wouldn’t know how many to kill. The sloshing of hooves drew Cas’ attention and he pushed himself off the wall in an attempt to make himself look like he wasn’t dozing and admiring the sunset. “Caßiel. I’ve good news.”

 “Yeah?” “They gave us one thousand two hundred crowns for your reward.”

 “Sweet. Now I can kill seven instead of three.” The alderman sighed. This wasn’t nearly enough for his liking. “Look. I know you want all the wraiths killed but I do need a reward. Quick question; are there any protesters left alive?”

 “Aye, a few. Why?”

 “Let’s make a deal. I’ll kill an additional five wraiths for free if you let them have equal rights.” The alderman spluttered, outraged, working himself into a coughing fit.

 “H- how many does that leave us with?”

 “Hm?”

 “How many-”

 “Thirteen. Not nearly enough, right? Tell you what. I’ll do your seven tonight. And you can come to a decision on my deal and see if there’s anyone else who will pay for some wraiths.” The alderman nodded and Cas waved shortly, a goodbye gesture. He sighed as he walked leisurely to the field and night closed around him. “I hope I don’t somehow fucking die on this job.” He said in a sing-song voice through gritted teeth.

 

* * *

 

Cas padded softly through the impromptu graveyard. The amber waves of grain made it look oddly serene and it deeply disturbed the young witcher. He stood near a fire pit and chucked all the items into it. “Igni.” He whispered and the pit lit up green. It took effect immediately, shrieks echoing around the field. He turned, expecting the 7 nightwraiths he’d summoned, but was met with a much more gruesome sight. One large noonwraith stood in the field, all the injuries of the women etched into its sallow, flaking skin. He circled her slowly, crouching low to the ground. His sword circled in seemingly random motions and he sped up his steps. It followed him with its eyes, never once breaking contact. Cas waited for it to get awkward, well as awkward as it can get between a witcher and the ghost of thirteen brutally murdered women. His moon dust bomb was sailing towards it before even he knew what was happening. It shrieked in pain and rushed at Cas, who just dodged its attack. He brought his sword down on its back, slicing through the rags billowing around it and colliding with the wraith’s visage. He had a spike of fear for his life as a nightwraith’s claws just missed him. These contracts were his favorite. Ghosts don’t bleed, and therefore no blood lust. He had tasted blood only once, years ago. Didn’t know if he wanted to ever again. He knew what it did to Regis, he didn’t want to make the same mistake, but he felt fated, condemned even, to fall down the same dark hole. It was only a matter of time. He was deep in thought as he slashed his sword through the nightwraith and jumped back away from its claws. He twirled around it in a spectacular show of footwork and managed to draw his sword around to its neck where he swiftly decapitated it. He clutched his side where it sunk its claws into him. Not fast enough. He collected the trophy and downed a shot of swallow. As a result, he didn’t realise the person who had appeared. He felt a presence behind him and turned, thrusting his sword through the thing’s stomach. _That’s not a nightwraith._ “Oh my god.” Cas’ eyes widened as the man who he’d just impaled stared at him, a small smirk on his lips. Was he amused? Cas sniffed the air subtly scenting this new person. Who was he? Why was he here? Why wasn’t he screaming in pain? Not human. That was for sure. “Are you okay?” The man laughed, showing off pointy fangs.

 “You really think you can kill a vampire with this pathetic sword? True it hurts, burns even. It is silver. Foolish witcher.” The man took a dagger from his belt and thrust it into Cas’ chest. Cas let out a yell. Fuck that hurt. Cas smirked through the pain.

 “You really think you can kill a vampire with this pathetic dagger? True it’s going to take days to heal and I have to make sure it doesn’t get infected. But it isn’t silver. Foolish vampire.” Cas mocked the newcomer. He grinned, fangs glistening in the moonlight. The other guy looked confused.

 “You don’t smell like a vampire.”

 “No, I smell of roses and violets. I’m a witcher. I smell of corpses. What did you expect?” Cas pulled the dagger out of his chest, blood spilling onto the ground in a great spurt. The other guy stared blankly into space.                                                                                               “Are you drunk? Hello?” Cas waved his hand in front of the other guy.

“Drunk…? Yeah. Maybe a bit.” The guy stuck out his hand. “Koel.” Cas took the sword out of Koel’s gut and shook his hand.

 “Cas.”

 

* * *

 

Cas squinted his eyes at the horizon as the sun cast its rays over the village. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep after meeting that very drunk, very… uh… rowdy… vampire in the field. He ran his hand through Koel’s hair as he slept. How the fuck did I even get to this point? Cas asked himself and looked through his hand again. He had been dragged by Koel to this gwent tournament in this guy’s backyard soon after they met. They really weren’t received well on account of Cas’ blood-splattered armor. They were obviously unwelcome from the get-go, their joined hands leading to many disturbed looks. This did not deter Koel as Cas hoped, instead he had seated Cas on the other side of a stranger and rifled through Cas’ pouches for a gwent deck. Cas had batted his hands away and pulled it out himself, sending Koel a glare as he whacked it down on the table. Koel had patted Cas’ back and sauntered away to another table, whipping out his own deck and tossing 5 crowns into the center of the table. Cas had marveled then, how much Koel reminded him of Sirius Black. _You’ve known this guy for like 50 minutes, Cas. Make like a stable and hold your fucking horses._ He shook his head and went straight to playing a spy card. Sometime during the night, Koel had gotten bored of gwent and, in a great dramatic display, had laid his head in Cas’ lap and promptly gone to sleep. The guy Cas was playing snorted at him rudely and gone in with another infantry card. _C’mon, dude. Switch it up a little. You’re a prime target for weather cards, you absolute moron._ And that was how Cas came to be here. Sitting on the damp ground, cards in between him and some ex-convict looking guy and Koel steadily drooling into his lap. “Life is a mystery, huh, Gustav?”

 “Yep. It’s like how does my washing get done every time I come back home?” Gustav threw his hands in the air.

 “You married?”

 “Uh-huh.” He showed off the wedding band on his hand, accidentally turning his cards around to reveal only weather cards. _Oh, Gustav._

 “There’s your answer.” Cas grunted. He felt Koel snore against his thigh. This was going to be a long morning.


	5. Toddler Existentialism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is a whiny bitch. That's all.

Cas heard Triss before he saw her. Well, rather he heard her magic. Felt? Cas couldn’t really tell one sense from the other. He slowed down while Ciri sped on ahead. Cas knew Triss would be able to hear Ciri already, but he’d rather not give her his position yet. After all, she was a sorceress and when did anything good come from trusting a sorceress?

Cas heard Triss sigh as he ran to catch up with Ciri. They approached the Gullet and jumped together. Cas caught sight of Triss just down the road and thought it wise to keep her in his sights. 

“Pick up the pace, Cas.” Ciri called, jumping over a moss-covered log. She was ever graceful in her stride, purposeful in every step, but she was easily distracted.

“Yeah. Hang on.” Cas tried not to lose his visual on Triss as he ran, sacrificing a great deal of speed. He had locked onto the sorceress like a wolf stalking a rabbit. His vision tunnelled and all he could see was the shock of red hair peeking out from under Triss' hood. Suddenly, Ciri squealed as she tripped and fell. _Dammit. Must’ve been trying to see what I’m looking at._ Cas took his attention away from Triss and ran over to Ciri, starting to assess the damage. “You’ve got a boo-boo.” Cas stated as he looked at the scrape. Ciri’s eyes brightened.

“Oh! I know what to do! I was told boo-boos are kissed better. It’s like magic!” Ciri said, excitedly. Cas sighed. She'd been reading way too many fairy tales. 

“I think we better stick to bandages.” Cas tried to avoid kissing the dirty wound, but Ciri stared at him sternly. He relented, pecking her graze in a tight lipped peck. _No, Cas what are you doing? Don't lick your lips!_ By the time he thought that, it was too late. _Really should have cleaned it first,_  he thought as he felt the irony tang of blood in his mouth. _My god what a taste!_ He shook his head, regaining his composure. He went back to fixing Ciri’s wound the old-fashioned way, but he got not a moment to do so before Triss had climbed the mountain and started running towards Ciri. She got up abruptly and hid behind Cas. _Just great. Look what you’ve done, Triss. Look at it. She’s gonna be even more hurt now._

 

* * *

 

Triss stared open mouthed at the two young witchers-in-training. One was tall, white haired, and his cat eyes had locked onto her, a predatory glint evident in his eyes. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood between her and the littler witcher. _What an intriguing sight!_   This witcher, as little as they may be, made up for their stature immensely with interesting details, as this witcher was not a boy. It was a little girl, dressed in some god awful, tatty cloth, and leather. Triss cringed at her haircut which was poorly and unevenly cut. Her large, green eyes portrayed fear.

“Don’t be afraid.” Triss said tentatively. Neither of them replied. The only indication she got of either of them hearing her was the male shifting his arm back to touch the girl, a protective gesture. He didn’t blink, didn’t take his eyes off her. He appeared to be just as afraid and untrusting as the girl. An age seemed to pass before any sort of sound was made. Fortunately, it was talking.

“Are… Ahem… Are you okay? Triss?” Triss was surprised that this witcher knew who she was. Wait? Witcher? No. He didn’t have a medallion. Though he was much older than the girl who appeared to be about 12.

“Me? Yes. Well, no. Perhaps. I will be at any rate. What about you, little one?” The girl didn’t talk, just shifted even more behind the man. He got down on one knee to look her in the eye. This reminded Triss of Geralt. She wondered if Geralt would’ve looked like this as a young man. However, her comparison was put off by the large bridge of the man’s nose. It bothered her.

“It’s okay, Ciri . You can talk to her. She’s not like to try anything and if she does;”

“-slice her up and feed her to the forktails.” Ciri finished the man’s sentence. Triss was disturbed by this, though it seemed in kidding.

“Hey, Ciri, I’m going to tell everyone she’s here. You’ll be okay?” The man had bent down to Ciri's height and was now talking lowly to her. Ciri nodded and the man ran off, leaving both Triss and Ciri alone in the woods.

“Why’re you here?” Ciri asked, suspiciously. 

“I heard you fall, and was scared, that’s why I rushed here- “ Triss explained. 

“I slipped.”

“Have you hurt yourself?”

“No. You?” The pain in her ankle was very prominent by now. Yes, she had bloody well hurt herself. She cussed under her breath.

“Come here, little one, help me get up.”

 

* * *

 

Cas leant heavily on his left leg and fought the impulse to crack his knuckles. Geralt said it was bad for you, but he was a vampire so how bad can it really be? He watched the exchange between Geralt and Triss in fascination. Triss looked around, witcher to witcher, making Cas uneasy. _I wonder if she can read my thoughts? Or is that just a Yennefer thing? Or maybe my shields are too tough? Wait do I even have shields?_

“What is that awful buzzing?” Triss asked out loud. Cas ceased his thought process to listen for buzzing. “Never mind. It’s gone.” Cas frowned at that and retreated back into his own mind, trying to escape however Lambert was undoubtedly going to embarrass him and the wolf school next. He was always doing that. Cas would chastise him for his quick temper and arrogant mouth, but then Cas would be a hypocrite so he resigned to disassociating from the situation altogether. He felt Geralt push his arm, trying to get his attention. Was he meant to be doing something?

“Cas? Cas? You coming?” Lambert asked, annoyed.

“What? Where?”

“Training.”

Cas groaned. “Lambeeeeerrrrrrtttt...” He whined. “Ciri and I get half an hour off after running the killer, you know that. Ciri only runs today anyhow.” Almost as an afterthought he added: “And for the love of all that is holy, please tell me you didn’t insult Triss when I wasn’t listening.”

“What? Did you want to do it?” Lambert smirked, knowing Cas’s lack of self-control when it came to sarcasm or telling someone he doesn’t like them. Cas scoffed.

“No. I’m smart enough to know that you don’t piss off a sorceress. Especially one who just did Ciri a favour. Sorry, Triss.” Cas bowed slightly. “I apologise on the behalf of Lambert and in the name of the wolf school. Forgive him. He’s mean because he’s uncomfortable having to masquerade as heterosexual. This in turn makes him feel inferior and gives him the urge to say mean things. He…” Lambert’s hand clamped down on Cas’ mouth and the two struggled. They fell onto the ground, Lambert pinning Cas with his weight. Cas bit into Lambert’s hand and a surge of blood rushed into his mouth. Lambert let out a pained cry as Cas' fangs pierced his skin and tore his hand away from Cas' mouth, making to grab for Cas’ hair. He slammed Cas into the cobblestone and lifted him to throw him into the wall. Cas struggled to get his footing and pivoted in Lambert's grip, kicking the elder witcher in the knee. Lambert's knee buckled and Cas brought his head down into his knee. He let Lambert slump on the ground and saw Geralt out of the corner of his eye, hand covering his eyes in shame. Cas felt a hand grab his ankle and drag him back. His chin collided with the ground and he saw stars.

“Dang it Lambert, don’t make me… Agh! _Balata zizop de micaloz!_ ” The last four words were rushed and gave the impression that they were an impulse. Cas let a bust of magic forth and his eyes seemed to glow. Light lashed forth at Lambert from Cas’ hands and made a box around the older witcher. Cas breathed heavily from doing whatever the hell he just did. He fell forward and started coughing, blood splattering the ground. _What the fuck was that?_ He passed out.

 

* * *

 

Triss looked around Ciri’s room. It was sparsely decorated save for a bed, a trunk, a stool, and some pelts. Usually witchers hung pelt of things they’d killed. Triss could believe the rat skin was Ciri’s, but the bear? Probably not.

“Ciri?”

“Yes?”

“Did you kill this?” Triss pointed at the wolf skin above her bed.

“No. Cas brought that back for me. He went to kill some monsters but he got in trouble and was locked in the keep for three weeks. He brought me the bear pelt and this!” Ciri held up the head of an erynia. Triss tried to restrain her disgust. Ciri didn’t seem to mind it, in fact, she was smiling like a maniac. A witcher indeed.

 

* * *

 

“Today? Now?”

“Mhm.”

“Hell and bloody damnation! Pox, plague, shit and leprosy! I’m going to kill those cursed idiots!” Triss couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The witchers had failed so miserably.  
“Do they know?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to tell them but Cas did anyway. He gave me something to stop the pain and these things so I wouldn’t dirty my underwear. He said I could have _all_ of them!” Ciri handed Triss the menstrual pads in their bright, annoying packaging. _Absorbent_. Triss was slowly starting to distrust Cas even more. She didn’t think it possible after that little show where he confined Lambert to a cell. The witchers had lovingly dubbed it ‘the box of shame’. Vesemir wanted to keep it as a permanent feature of the training ground. Triss feared he might get his wish as she couldn’t even begin to dismantle it as Cas had used a magic unknown to her. It appeared to be light based, but powered by blood, but that's all she could find from her analysis of the box, especially with Lambert yelling at her the entire time. If she was being honest, she was glad she couldn't dismantle it. Lambert deserved to be trapped in there. Though really, she would prefer to be able to dissipate the magic. In truth, the lambert-trapping box scared her even more than Ciri’s little episode.

“What did he give you to stop the pain?”

“Pills. Neuro… something.”

"He gave you drugs?!” Before Ciri could explain, Triss had marched out of the room and to the witchers in the interest of giving them an earful.

 

* * *

 

Cas sat up. He was in bed, stripped down to his pants. _I wish they’d stop taking my clothing every time I pass out._ Geralt and Eskel were sitting near the fireplace, drinks in hand. Lambert was nowhere to be seen. Vesemir was arranging books on a shelf. Cas’ head pounded and he lay back down. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea. He could hear Triss cursing from Ciri’s room and figured she was about to cuss out the rest of them too. _Fuck. Just pretend to sleep. It's too early in the morning for this. I'm too young for Triss to tear me a new one._

“SHUT IT, GERALT! WOULD SOMEONE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT RINGING? AND TELL ME WHERE CAS IS!” He took a sharp breath and tensed his body, fear coursing through his veins. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m dead. So very, very dead. She can probably smell fear. He saw Geralt betray his location and cursed under his breath. He took in his surroundings as Geralt followed Triss over. Several things he could shove through her gut, a few small her things that could be speared through her neck.  _Remember your claws and mist, you actual failure of a vampire. She can’t kill what she can’t catch. And if you were any good at being a vampire you would remember your racial perks._

“YOU GAVE HER DRUGS?!” Triss yelled as she walked over to Cas. Her hand was blazing with a fireball. Cas had no doubts that he wouldn’t make it through this fight. He scrambled out of bed, falling briefly onto the floor, and backed away slowly, his head pounding in protest.

“I can- I can explain…” He tried to reason, but something gave the impression that this was personally motivated, making it nearly impossible to defuse the situation. He looked at Geralt pleadingly but all Geralt offered was a raised eyebrow, urging him to explain himself to the sorceress.

“Fine.” The fireball disappeared from her hand, and she placed said hand on her hip, rubbing it roughly down her dress. “Explain.”

“Okay. So I kind fell through a portal… apparently… from another world. In my bag I had period pads and nurofen which is a pain killer, sure it has a slight chance of giving her stomach ulcers if she doesn’t eat with them-” Triss glared at him.  
“But in the end, it’s a lot better than having your uterus claw through your god damn skin.”

“That’s not what happens during a period, Cas.” Triss sighed. 

“It was a metaphor, Triss. I’d give her dark chocolate as well but you know how rare that is in this stupid universe with no milkbars or grocery stores. So, like I figured heat and drugs is all I can give her.” Triss sighed and sat down on the bed.

“You didn’t even consult a professional? You’ve never had a period before in your life how do you think it feels for her knowing you don’t know what you’re doing? You could have harmed her, Caßiel, really harmed her.”

“How would that be? Huh? Going to a ‘professional’ as you called it we’re living in a time where fertility treatment isn’t even a thing. Where antibiotics isn’t a thing. Plague is everywhere and children are routinely dying of starvation even in the capitals of the world and you’re telling me not to help her? You’re telling me that I can’t do this for her? She’s going to be gone in the blink of an eye whether it be a monster, plague, accident, bandit, or even old age. I want to make her comfortable and you won’t let me do that?" Cas scoffed derisively. "You know what? I don’t need this from a human. I’m leaving.” Cas shucked a shirt on and grabbed the knife from under his pillow.

“Cas-” Geralt started.

“Not now, da-” Cas stopped himself. “Geralt.” He blushed slightly as he grabbed his backpack and swords. He sent one last scathing look at Triss and stomped out the door. _Nope, nope, nope. I am noping the fuck out of here. Bye Marigold, see you in hell, you clingy, irrational bitch._ Cas started grumbling in his head and he heard Triss scream in response. So I’m the source of the ringing? Good. Confusing, but good. Cas turned to mist and continued out of the keep. He didn’t stop until he reached the old trial cave. He panted, returning to human form, holding onto the wall to keep from collapsing. His head was pounding and the coughing fits started. He held onto his stomach as if that would keep his intestines from falling out his mouth. He threw up, saliva dribbling from his mouth and into a puddle at his feet.

“Is that blood? Gross, dude.” He said shakily as he wiped his mouth. He got to his feet with a great amount of effort and started down the cave corridor to the main part of the hideout.

“Now to write a letter and hope Triss reads it before she burns it. Actually no. Bad idea… Better idea! Stay up here until she’s willing to see my side.” Cas congratulated himself on his plan and lit the torches. In the time since he first ventured here, he had renovated the place to make a little den of sorts. He’d pulled apart Sad Albert’s brothers and burnt the useless parts and used the rest to make a bed. He’d also managed to make a crappy mattress and duvet along with a nice pillow. Harpy feathers make really soft bedding. He’d made a sort of cozy library and makeshift fireplace. There were pelts strewn across the floor and extra blankets on top of the bookshelves. In one corner of the cave was the ‘kitchen’, or rather a storage place for food. Why can’t I remember the name for that? The only word that was coming to Cas’ head was ‘Speisekammer’. _No. No. In English. Considering I only speak like five words of German, this shouldn’t happen._ Cas went over to a chest and pulled out a warm jacket and beanie. He really needed to seal off the entrance. Do that tomorrow. He decided that even though he’d just woken up, he deserved to sleep because of the harrowing experience he’d just had.

 

* * *

 

Triss wouldn’t calm down. They’d tried everything and still she ranted and raged on.

“Triss, please.” Geralt tried, his voice tired.

“He gave her drugs, Geralt. Drugs! Drugs from another universe, even. What the fuck, Geralt.”

“Triss, young ears." He looked pointedly at Ciri out the corner of his eye. She was eating dinner, a glass of something he knew to be slightly alcoholic in front of her. 'To numb the pain' Vesemir had said. "And I know. This is the forty… third time you’ve told me.” He counted on his fingers.

“And I shall keep telling you until he comes and apologises, or at least explains what’s actually in them.” She held the package up to her face. “What the ffff-" She looked at Ciri. "-ruit cakes is an… ibuprofen.”

“Well she’s not dead yet.” Vesemir said with a mischievous smirk, only meant for Ciri. “How bad can it be?” He was as annoyed as Geralt underneath his playful exterior, though he didn’t show it. Eskel was sitting in the corner, not wanting to anger the sorceress more. Ciri was sitting with him. She looked uncomfortable. No doubt she was sore since she hadn’t got her medicine yet. Coën had busied himself in carving a little wolf for Ciri, avoiding the situation altogether. Lambert wasn’t there which was, admittedly, strange since he likes to be in the middle of everything. Geralt thought that by now, he would have broken through the box of shame.

“You’ve got to understand my concerns! Who knows what these drugs could have done to her? Where is he? I’m going to make him explain what propionic acid does.” She said this with a lilt of malice.

“No need for torture. He’ll tell you willingly, provided he’s willing to talk to you. Cas is… how should I put this… testy. He often throws tantrums in which he retreats to the mountains and hides. He goes there to… Actually what does he do?” Vesemir asked.

“Well, he’ s a very angry person. With no ‘impulse control’.” She used air quotes. “So I’d say he’s trying to calm down. It won’t work, he can hold a grudge.” Ciri explained. Geralt scoffed. That’s an understatement. “Though I think this fight will make him do something bad. Like… I don’t know but maybe like killing your horse in front of you? It looked like he was trying very hard to get on your good side, Triss, but once he has a grudge, you never know what will happen. So I don’t know.” Ciri looked smug about the information but her expression quickly changed to concern. “He does this a lot but it could be bad this time. Since what he did to Lambert…He only wanted to help me.” Ciri looked down into her drink, suddenly reminding Geralt of an old man at a bar. Full of regret. He didn’t know why it was so funny to him.

“Gonna go into the mountains, coax him out. He’s like a toddler in a witcher suit. Scary how much he’s like Lambert.” Geralt announced as he got up. _Will also give me some time away from this room and sorceress._

“I’m coming too, then.” Triss said.

“Oh, no you’re not. He’ll never come out if you’re there. He’s like a forktail. You have to bait him. Stay here, Triss.” The sorceress threw her hand up in the air as if to show the Gods how idiotic witchers are and let out an exasperated sigh. _Gods, what have I gotten myself into._

 

* * *

 

 

“Pantry!” Cas cried as he awoke. _Finally remembered that fucking word._ He realised that the sound of hooves was what had woken him, so he extinguished all the candles and the fireplace. Crouching low, Cas made his way to the best spot in the cave, an elevated ledge above the arch that separated the tunnel from the main cave. He mostly used it as shelving for alcohol he’d nicked from Vesemir’s stash. _The old man won’t notice_. Cas listened to the footsteps. Not Triss or Ciri. Also not Lambert. _Fuck. Forgot to free him from the cage._ At least it has heating. Probably. Cas readied his position, taking his knife out of its sheath. He’d use his claws but he’d prefer they not get dirty when he didn’t need them to.

“Cas. I know you’re here. Come on out.” Geralt’s voice echoed in the cave. Cas sheathed his weapon and leapt from the ledge, landing gracefully on the ground.

“Sure. I’m pansexual.” Cas laughed at his own joke, finger gunning at Geralt, but the elder witcher didn’t get it. Cas chewed on his cheek, suddenly feeling very awkward. He lit the torches hastily. “So… Uhm. What brings you here?” Cas asked, walking over to the pantry. “Coffee?”

“What’s… Nevermind. Sure. Gotta come back to the keep.” Cas scoffed.

“Not fucking likely.”

“Why not? Triss won’t kill you.”

“Maybe not but she refuses to see my side. Trust me, the drugs are harmless painkillers. They’re anti-inflammatories. All they do is create prostaglandins. They’re ideal for menstrual pain. I’d give her naproxen but I don’t have any. Nurofen is the best thing she can have. That and chocolate.” Cas took a knife to a coffee pod and opened the plastic top. He was so glad he found these in his bag along with a camping coffee cup and sugar. “The real question here is; how do I know so much about drugs?”

“How…”

“I don’t know. ADHD induced 3am searches? Just take my word for it.” Cas huffed as he poured boiled water into the coffee cup/plunger hybrid. “Look, Geralt, I don’t come up here for no reason, and I certainly don’t come up here only for a night. If she wants me back at the keep, she’s gonna have to be a little more mellow. And she’s gonna have to apologise. And trust me a little. Oh! And find a way to charge my phone.” He took the rectangle from his pocket and shook it a bit. It had died on the third day he was here.

“Maybe that’s a little bit demanding, Cas.”

“You’re right. She’s never gonna trust me.” Cas' attempt to use humour to diffuse the situation at hand was getting a little old. Geralt scoffed.

“Hold on. What do you mean you don’t come up here for no reason? The last time you came up here was because of a temper tantrum involving igni. And the time before that it was because you accidentally called me ‘dad’. And the time before that…”

“Enough! Enough, I get it. You said you’d never bring up the ‘dad incident’ again.” Grumped Cas. Geralt chuckled.


	6. Barely Even a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... It gets uncomfortable...

The coins jingled as Cas pocketed them. He loved that sound. He supposed he had to. What was a witcher who didn’t love the way gold sounded? To him it sounded like success. Or accomplishment. Or the promise of food. There are two sounds a witcher loves best: the sound of his own voice, and the sound of coin. Cas was obviously no exception. “Give me a shout if you find more coin.” Cas instructed the alderman. The man just nodded, and shut the door in Cas’ face. _Joke’s on you. Now you’re broke._ Cas finger gunned at the door.  

 

A shadow distracted him from his taunting. He drew his sword, following the dancing shadow playfully, like a cat with a laser pointer. It trailed along the ground, over flowerbeds and around the corner of the hut. Cas flattened himself against the hut, breathing heavily, but somehow noiselessly. He spun around the corner, realizing just in time that he didn’t want to hurt this person.

 

“Koel, you wombat, what the fuck?” Cas exclaimed, sheathing his sword.

 

“Cassie!” Koel greeted, tipping his flask in Cas’ direction.

 

“Don’t call me that. I almost stabbed you… again.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“You’re drunk. No surprises there.” Cas muttered. Koel put his arm around Cas’ shoulders.

 

“There… **hic…** There’s one thing you oughta know about me, Cassie… I’m always drunk.” Koel pointed a finger in Cas’ face and promptly fell over. Cas leaned over his prone form.

 

“Maybe we should get you home?” Suggested Cas. Koel grunted in agreement from the ground.

 

* * *

 

A bruxa slashed at Cas’ back and he dropped Koel on instinct to grab his sword. He cast quen around Koel and took a defensive stance. They were in the middle of the forest, a tranquil clearing with a lazily flowing stream, mossy rocks, and evergreen trees. Birds chirped all around. It would be nice… if not for the multiple bruxae. Cas looked at the one perched on a rock, she was staring him down. He scoffed at her. “Is this how you welcome guests? It’s a bit lacking, if you don’t mind my saying.”

 

“Give him back…” The bruxa hissed.

 

“Unusual as apologies go. Is this some sort of vampire custom? Attempting to kill your guests?” The bruxa just hissed again and started circling him. Her sisters copying her. Cas counted about 7. “Look, Gollum, you gotta calm the fuck down so I can talk to Sméagol.” Cas circled with them, trailing his sword in the air as an attempt to confuse them.

 

“I don’t underssstand your sssstrange language, witcher. We’ve heard of you, white wolf.” Cas stopped, dropping his sword, and doubling over in laughter. “I don’t underssstand. Why are you laughing? We were warned. A witcher with white hair and a gravelly voice. You are him.” Cas’ laughter renewed.

 

“You think _I_ am the white wolf?” He said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. The bruxa narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“Yessss?”

 

“Bitch, do I look like…?” Cas took a deep breath, calming his laughter. He smiled dangerously. “I may not be Geralt. But I’m no less dangerous.” He went to pick up his sword to find it missing. “Bitch, what the fuck?”

 

“We can’t allow you to be armed, you sssee.” The bruxa said confidently. “They ssssay a witcher without a ssssword issss like a man without an arm.”

 

“Excuse my professional curiosity, but what’s a bruxa look like without her arms? I so do want to find out.”

 

The bruxa crinkled her nose. “You dare threaten ussss?!”

 

“You dare threaten us!?” Cas mocked in a squeaky voice. “Bitch, you threatened me. You attacked me. Honestly, my feelings are hurt. Your hospitality skills are really lacking. You should take a class.” Koel started to stir.

 

“GIVE HIM TO USSSS!” The bruxa yelled in a last attempt to free Koel.

 

“STOP YELLING AT ME! Let’s talk like civilized vampires and not baby katakans, please.” Cas lengthened his claws on impulse and quickly got them under control. He briefly mourned his newly shredded gloves. Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. The bruxa shut up. “Okay. Good. Now let’s talk. Start off correctly. Hi, I’m Cas. Witcher… vampire… hybrid… thingy. Koel passed out on the way here. He’s not a hostage. Just an idiot who walked into my silver sword.”

 

“You are no vampire. You don’t…”

 

“Smell like one? Yeah. I get that a lot.” Cas glared at Koel. “Let me bathe and that might change.” Koel sat up as Cas said that, suddenly at attention.

 

“Cassie, dude, you’re not gonna believe the dream I had. Fuckin’… argh” He rubbed his forehead. “Fuckin’ Rhea attacked you man. I…” He looked around and sighed. “It wasn’t a dream, huh.” Koel got to his feet shakily and stumbled towards a bruxa. “Look, Rhea, mah girl, he has fangs and claws. How is he not a vampire?” Koel lifted Cas’ lip, revealing his fangs and Cas bit down the urge to slap his hand away. Rhea scoffed, unimpressed.

 

“Witcherssss, have all ssssortssss of unussssual thingsss. Until I ssssmell him, he issss no vampire.”

 

“Is everything you say a hiss?” Cas asked. She hissed again.

 

“I ssssshall let you bathe. Then we sssshall sssee.”

 

* * *

 

Cas stepped out of the stream about half an hour later. They had urged him to hurry up, but he claimed that perfection takes time. He walked up to Rhea, leaning down to her height.

 

“Well? Go on. Make sure.” Cas urged her. Rhea took her face close to his neck and took a deep breath.

 

“You sssmell like violetsss and lavender. But you are a vampire.” She stepped away. “What tribe? We are Gharasssssham.” Cas shrugged.

 

“I don’t have a tribe. I… how do I put it? I wasn’t always a vampire. You were born into it, I was a mishap during a witcher trial. Vampire or human? I’m not really enough of either to fit. Enough about that. Don’t like talking about it. Tell me who you are?”

 

“A society, a club, a group.” Koel stepped back, giving Cas a once-over. “Y’know, Cas. You spent so much time in the water I’m surprised you didn’t turn into a water nymph.” Koel smirked as Cas blushed.

 

“Y’know what? Bite me, Koel.” There was an awkward pause as Cas realized what he just said. “Wait. No. I didn’t mean that!”

 

“You sure?” Koel smiled lewdly.

 

“Rack off.” Cas huffed, annoyed and slightly embarrassed. Blood rushed back to his cheeks and he avoided eye contact with Koel.

 

* * *

 

It was 3am; a time Cas was normally asleep. Or at least attempting to get some rest. But here he was, in the middle of the forest, in a dimly lit clearing among around 15 other vampires. _I’ve never seen this many vampires in one place. At least without killing them._ Cas mused. They were talking, probably in Etruscan. Cas had no hope of understanding that. He sat down on a moss-covered log, looking up at the stars and wished he could recognize the constellations, but they were different from what he was used to. However hard he tried, he could not find the southern cross or Orion’s belt. He missed being able to look at the night sky and make heads or tails of what he was looking at. Or perhaps it was Australia he was mourning? Her stinging sun and dusty sunsets. Or perhaps just his bed and being able to see the pointers and the southern cross from where he lay. He sighed up into the sky, taking a moment to transport back to his home country where when the sky was clear, you could see Scorpio’s tail curling in on itself. This sky couldn’t hold a candle to earth’s. Still beautiful though.

 

A scent suddenly brought him out of his wistful trance and to attention. He sniffed the air, drawn to the scent, and immediately covered his nose as he started getting dizzy. The smell of human blood always did that to him.

 

“C’mon Cas, try it.” Koel sat down next to him, thrusting the cup into Cas’ hands. Cas reeled, the smell enveloping him. He forced himself to give it back to Koel.

 

“Are you fucking insane? If I try it and get addicted I won’t even be able to do my job. I kill for a living, Koel.”

 

“Pssssh. Addiction takes time, just try it.” Koel urged. Cas narrowed his eyes and glanced at him sideways.

 

“I-I dunno.” Cas stammered, crossing his arms. Koel huffed and shoved the glass back into Cas’ hand. “You seriously drink blood out of a glass?” Cas’ lip twitched in disgust.

 

“Not when it’s fresh. We haven’t killed anyone yet today, but you could help. Couldn’t ya? You’ve got swords and no empathy, you could do the job. Don’t be a spoil-sport, Cas.” Koel pressured. Everyone had stopped talking and was looking intently at him. Cas swallowed his discomfort and rage at the fact that Koel really believed that he had no empathy, and returned his face to its natural stoic expression. He glared into the cup, and, steeling himself, took it like medicine, scrunching his eyes up and downing it in one. “If you do it like that you won’t savour the taste.” Koel complained. Cas just grunted. Koel looked at Cas’ eyes, sensing something wrong. His pupils were rapidly constricting and dilating and his breathing grew heavy as if he was trying to keep his body under control and failing miserably. Cas let out the breath he’d been holding, losing his concentration, and his pupils dilated almost completely. “What the fuck just happened to _you_?” Koel asked, surprised. Cas shook his head, clearing it.

 

“I lost a battle of will. Hoo boy… You mentioned killing someone?” By this point the crowd had lost interest. Cas was very grateful.

 

“Now?”

 

“It’ll breathe some sense of normality into this night.”

 

“NORMALITY!?”

 

“I’m a witcher. Really, what did you expect? True, I’m not a mindless mutant that kills everything he sees, but there’s a certain therapeutic repetition about it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“What? No. You are _fucked up_.”

 

“Thanks, Koel. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

 

“Like real, proper fucked up.”

 

“I get it, you fucking goose. Now who do I need to kill?” Cas put on a hard, somewhat playful demeanor to cover up what he really wanted to do: impress both Koel and the rest of the society.

  

* * *

 

  
Cas punched Koel for the fifth time, his knuckles colliding with Koel’s jaw. Cas sincerely hoped that he hasn’t put it out of whack. If Koel’s jawline was any less sharp by the end of this, Cas would never forgive himself.

 

The herbalist screamed, covering her face with her hands and scrambling back towards a tree as Koel slashed Cas’ chest with the knife as they struggled. They’d ambushed her as she was picking mushrooms in the forest. Cas was to defend her, win her trust, and drain her blood. He grimaced as he accidentally stepped on a fallen mushroom. He didn’t much care for her fate. Not right now. As far as Cas was concerned, she was insignificant. Just a tool to win Koel’s affections or trust perhaps. Though in truth, punching Koel wasn’t gonna win him much in the way of affection. That opportunity lies in the collection of the herbalist’s blood. Cas ducked one of Koel’s attacks, watching him try to balance his weight again. Cas quickly hooked his foot behind Koel’s ankle and swiftly drew Koel’s foot from under him, toppling the other vampire. He crunched his foot down on Koel’s ankle for a second, taking a moment to muse about how he got here.

 

“Alright, Cas. This is a group initiation. A ritual of sorts. Any new member of the group has to have some series of kills under their belt that furthers the group in one way or another, okay?” Koel had explained on their way over to where they knew the herbalist to be. “This is what you’re gonna do-“

 

“-Stand there like a man until Eaker is in front of you. When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air. This’ll put an end to the whole affair.”

 

“Who’s Eaker?” Koel asked, perplexed.

 

“Never mind. So, what do I do?” Cas asked, shrugging off that he had automatically sung to a man who doesn’t even know what musical theatre is. Koel sighed.

 

“Once you win her trust, you’re going to empty her veins into a wine barrel, then you will load it onto a cart, both of which are already near her hut, and silently make your way back to the clearing, okay?” Koel instructed. Cas hummed in agreement, suddenly falling into a sneaking walk as he saw the herbalist. Koel smirked. “This is gonna be fun.” Cas lightly scoffed at Koel’s idea of fun.

 

And that’s how Cas ended up with his foot on Koel’s neck and a still shrieking herbalist behind him. _Ugh will you shut up already. The threat has been neutralized, you actual banshee._ Koel, as if sensing Cas’ thought made a little snort of amusement. Cas rolled his eyes and half-heartedly picked Koel up by the neck and threw him against a tree, watching him slide down and quickly scramble off into the half-darkness of the early morning. As soon as Koel was out of sight, Cas clutched at his side where his blade had cut him moments before, crumpling down onto the ground at the herbalist’s feet. The herbalist, who had finally stopped shrieking, crouched down beside him, holding his upper body in trembling hands.

 

“So, doc, tell me, am I gonna live?” Cas laughed weakly for a second before roughly coughing up blood. He took in a rasping breath as he looked up into her eyes. She started a minute, realizing him for the witcher he is.

 

“Yes, yes you will.” She decided after a moment of consideration. S _he’s grateful that I saved her. Phase one complete._ “Come on, let’s get you to my hut so I can take a look at that wound of yours.” She got Cas to his feet, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulder.

 

Cas stumbled forward a bit but regained his balance quickly as he leant on her. She grunted under the pressure as they staggered through the forest. Cas took in the lightly moonlit surroundings, the way the light played on the trees. He was about to take an innocent life. Perhaps after this, it wouldn’t look the same. _May as well drink it all in while I can._ As they approached her hut, what he was about to do really hit him. This was the most powerful a man could be. In taking someone else’s life, he was making the most in-control decision he’s ever made. He was going to be, in this moment, not a monster slayer, righteously taking down foes in the name of humanity, but a cold-blooded murderer. Barely even a vampire. Not even killing for food, but for fun, nay, for a slight chance to fit in with a group of people he barely knows. His breathing grew heavy and fast, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He felt his chest closing up and his vision clouding. _Oh God, what am I doing? Is this really what I want to do? I don’t wanna go to hell for this! I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die!_

“Oh, dear, you’re hyperventilating, let’s get you down, okay?” The herbalist’s soft voice was like a soothing balm on Cas’ mind. He latched onto it for all he was worth, drinking in what he felt to be his last moments of real life.

 

“Okay sweetheart, I’m gonna give you this to drink and we’re gonna have a nice sleep, okay? That’s it, come on.” He grasped her wrist as she forced the sweet liquid down his throat. He swallowed shakily, falling back on the bed, still holding her wrist, feeling the warmth of her blood running through her skin.  His breath was less shaky now as exhaustion overwhelmed him.

 

“Thank you.” He slurred as he let a blissful sleep take him.

 

* * *

 

Cas shot up in bed, a noise startling him. He took a moment to gather his bearings, figuring that he was still in the herbalist’s hut. She was sitting on the chair next to the fireplace snoring loudly. Cas chuckled. By the look outside it appeared to be around 8:30pm, meaning he’d slept through an entire day, a new record for him. He slowly made his way over to her, prepared to slit her throat and be done with it, but something stopped him. He turned to the mantle on the fireplace which bore many pictures and two urns. One next to a sloppy portrait of a woman labelled Catrina Pine and the other next to a framed letter signed Robert Pine. _Her parents._ Cas reasoned. There was a single portrait of what looked like the herbalist with a man and a child. _Her husband perhaps? Wonder where he is…Christopher Adelaide, Josephina Adelaide, and George Adelaide… Where’s the baby?_ Almost startlingly, Cas remembered a singular image from last night. A grave. He rushed to the window, frantically looking outside. There it was. Two graves in the fading light, one large and one tiny. _Catriona. Dammit. Got her husband and child, but she, curiously, isn’t sick._ Speaking of the herbalist… Cas crouched next to her, doing his best to look weak and pitiful which is pretty damn hard with monstrous cat eyes and a few scars to show his trade.

 

“Hey. Hey.” He shook her gently and she blinked her eyes at him blearily.

 

“Hey.” She said softy, a look on concern clouding her features. “What’s wrong?” She sat up slowly, looking down at him. Cas avoided her eyes for a moment, trying his best to appear bashful.

 

“I… I’m sorry you had to see me like this. Just… I haven’t had it in so long…” He let out a hollow chuckle. “It’s pathetic really.” She cupped his cheek in a caring way, forcing him to look into her eyes. His heart constricted painfully. How could he even consider doing this to this poor woman?

 

“Haven’t had what, sweetheart? Are you an addict? What are your demons? Fisstech? Alcohol?” She asked as sweetly as possible. Cas blushed hard and looked away.

 

“No. No, I… God this is embarrassing. See during the trial in which I was turning into a witcher, I got a few too many vampire mutations… It makes me need to drink blood to live.” He lied, hoping beyond hope that it was convincing enough. “That’s why I haven’t been healing. I need to replace the Vitamin D in my blood since I can’t absorb it on my own… At this rate I probably have only a few days to live.” He managed to squeeze a few tears in there, guilt overwhelming him.

 

“Are you saying you’re essentially a vampire?” She asked, wary of this new information. Cas wiped the tears from his cheeks weakly and staggered his way over to her mirror, carefully taking it off the wall. He crouched down next to her and angled it so it showed her his clothing but, astoundingly to her, not his head or arms. Cas huffed and placed the mirror back, staring ashamedly at the ground. Shame was not an emotion he had to fake. He should be ashamed of what he was about to do. Her warm look did not change as she guided him over to the bed.

 

“As long as it doesn’t kill me, you can take from me.” She said, somewhat warily. Cas looked at her in amazement. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s my life mission to help people and you, young man, are in need of help.”

 

“It’ll hurt. You’ll want to be knocked out…” He mumbled, pointedly staring at her neck. He watched her as she made her way over to the beggartick and, carefully removing a single leaf, popped it in her mouth. She made her way over to the bed, shifting Cas so she could lie down.

 

“Do what you have to do, sweetie.” She said reassuringly before she suddenly started snoring.

 

Cas clenched his fists and allowed himself to heal the wound in his side. He tasted salt as he went for the barrel, rolling it inside. He stood there for a moment over her prone form before gritting his teeth together and making the incision with his claw. The blood gushed from her vein into the barrel as he held her over it. He didn’t know how long he was standing there, but he could see the life beginning to fade in her. He choked back sobs in knowing that what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t stop. He was running on autopilot, his actions no longer felt his own as he watched the last drops disturb the pool of blood in the barrel. Cas laid her back down on the bed, salving over the wound with his tongue to get the last blood off her neck. He felt a jerk go through his body, the last ditch effort of his humanity trying to make him realize what he was doing. His own actions repulsed him as he watched on from a, mentally, safe distance. _God, what am I doing?_ He looked down on her for a minute. She looked so peaceful. As if she could have died in her sleep. No wounds or anything. _No wounds? Wait what?_ Cas took a closer look at her neck to find the wound healed. In his shock, the only thing he could think to relate this experience to was the gif of Steven Universe proclaiming he has healing spit. He shook that image from his head. _Now isn’t the time for distractions or cartoons, you have a chance to save a good woman dammit. Why can’t you have a normal reaction to something for once?_

 

“Holy shit…” He muttered as he hurried to his bag. He took out a blood replenishing potion he’d made by experimentation for when he, on occasion, got gutted. He popped the top of it, added a drop of her blood and swilled it around. He lifted her almost frozen body and tipped it to her lips, feeling warmth rush into her muscles. This could leave her critically brain damaged or in severe shock, but she’d be alive so halle-fucking-lujah. He took the empty vial away with shaky hands as he saw her take in a ragged breath. _Thank God._ She rolled onto her side and shook a bit, but Cas still counted that as a win. He took a bit of parchment and wrote a shaky thank you note for her, his breathing still heavy from the adrenaline. He looked back in on her, noting how the candle light played softly with her features, and turned to take the barrel back to the cart. “That went better than expected.” Cas mused as if he hadn’t almost killed someone he’d grown inordinately fond of within the total of 3 lucid minutes he’d spent with her.

 

He looked disappointedly at the barrel. This probably wasn’t enough for the type of party Koel was trying to host. Perhaps he’d heard the instructions wrong? Cas hummed, his face contorting into a frown. His tongue darted out to chase a speck of blood on his lip… _that’s not a speck_ … He wiped his hand across his face and it came away thick with blood. He’d really underestimated the amount that was on her neck. He licked it off his hand, feeling almost guilty for doing so. He didn’t even realize he’d closed his eyes until he was opening them in total euphoria.

 

Momentarily forgetting about his somewhat traumatic experience that was all of his own doing and would haunt him for years to come, he started moving towards the village. He spotted an empty house, the smith’s if he remembered correctly, and rolled the barrel into it. Everything was enhanced, sight, smell, hearing most of all. He held his head for a second, trying to filter the sounds he was hearing. It took him a moment to realize it was heartbeats. They were so loud. So loud. He fled out the window of the hut, swiftly running across the road to the baker’s shop. He slipped in the back door, silently making his way towards the loudest heartbeat. He came upon the baker in his room, snoring loudly. The smell of his blood was rich and heady and it permeated the room, making its way into Cas’ lungs. He stood there in the corner of the room, salivating profusely. _Disgusting._ All of a sudden, he heard a creak to his side and looked up startled, eyes glowing in the dark. A child, no older than 7 was standing there, a scream on his lips. Cas acted fast, knife flying out of his belt and across the child’s throat. The feeling of a death filled him with guilty power as an enraged shout could be head across the room. The baker was halfway out of bed as Cas’ sword collided with his stomach. Cas thrust the man back on the bed as he licked his intestines. Repulsion coursed through his body, but he couldn’t stop. This wasn’t him. He was like a man possessed, committing acts too vile for his mind to rationalize, and so he fled his own mind. He felt as if he was but an onlooker in this tragedy as he made his way back to the smith’s hut with a little boy and a man to drain of blood.

 

By the time he sun was up, the village was in chaos. Anyone who’d survived the nights attack was screaming at the top of their lungs and Cas watched from the back of a wagon.

“You alright?” Koel asked from the reins.

 

“I’m not sure…” Cas replied solemnly. The night’s events played over in his head. He’d waited in dark rooms, on window sills, or sitting in bed next to people, waiting for them to wake up and find him in their house as he drew on horror movies he’d seen to scare them. The drawing people out of their houses as he mimicked their child’s screams as he’d heard them all of two seconds ago. The kidnapping and torturing. Walking around three tied up men, one of which was the alderman, and taunting them. Telling them every foul or vile thing he was going to do to them as retribution for the ladies’ deaths. He remembers through a misty haze of events, getting up close to the alderman’s face and licking his bloody cheek, salty tears and sweet blood mixing in his mouth; a symphony of pain and fear swirling around his tongue. He chuckled, purring: “Yes. You. I’m going to keep you alive for a while. You’re going to watch your son, quite a handsome one isn’t he, get drained of life and then you’re going to watch your secret lover-” He waved at the man in the corner. “Hi, Marvin – get eaten alive. I’m going to drain the blood from his neck… slowly.” Cas punctuated this by licking the blood off the alderman’s neck. He felt the man quiver in fear and had to stop himself recoiling as the scent of tobacco breached his nose. “Ever so slowly, and I’m going to make you watch. In fact, I’m going to make you enjoy it.” He nipped at the alderman’s neck and made his way over to Marvin, taking his time to expose the man’s neck. “Watch me. Axii.” He cast the spell as he slowly grazed his teeth along the man’s throat, hearing him whimper around the gag in his mouth, taking his time to push his fangs into Marvin’s vein. Cas had watched the alderman’s struggling body, his muffled screams as he’d drawn the blood from Marvin’s neck. Once he’d had enough of watching the alderman suffer, he’d strung Marvin up over the open barrel and let it gush from the slices Cas had made into the already large quantity of blood in there. _Blood and wine, indeed._ Cas had chuckled, shrugging his swords and armor off into a pile in the corner. He walked over to the alderman’s son, barely a man as far as the vampire was concerned. Perhaps 17 to Cas’ 19 years. He took the back of the chair around and had it so the back of the boy’s head was facing the alderman. Cas straddled the son, Paul is his name perhaps (not that Cas took much notice.), and, taking the gag out of Paul’s mouth, began to nip and lick at the younger man’s lips, turning it to obscenely making out with the man. He felt, almost embarrassingly, Paul become aroused under him. He pulled away momentarily, locking eyes with Paul. “Quite the masochist, aren’t you?” He smiled lewdly at the mixed shame and guilty arousal he could smell coming off Paul and went back to kissing up the human’s neck, lightly grazing his teeth over his pulse. He tried his best, of course, to make direct eye contact with the alderman whenever he could, whose face was red and bulging as if he were bursting to yell something. Cas nipped at Paul’s neck one last time before standing up and making his way over to the alderman. “Something to say, old man?” He asked as he pulled the gag from the human’s mouth. The alderman spat at him. Cas recoiled and wiped it off with the back of his hand.

 

“You’re a monster! You don’t kill them! You are one! They were right about witchers! You always bite the hand that feeds you!” Cas had chuckled at the alderman’s words.

 

“I believe you weren’t feeding me, and besides, Paul was making eyes at me earlier.” He winked at Paul who averted his eyes and whimpered. “I’m barely a witcher anyway, more of a… vampire, I would say.” Cas grinned and his fangs glinted in the moonlight. He reached for Paul, sinking his fangs into the boy’s neck and drawing a mouthful of blood. He swilled it around in his mouth and sprayed it in the alderman’s face. The man yelled and struggled, his chair falling over. Cas had stood over him, smirk playing on his lips, blood covering his chin and neck, and his actions not his own.

 

Cas shook his head back to the present. He _was_ a monster. He chuckled to himself. _Look how far a man can fall. From human, to vampire, to ghoul. Might as well change my name to Rize and go live in Tokyo at this point._

 

“First times are always like that, Cas. At least this party is going to be… What did you call it? Sick.” Koel mused delightedly as Cas watched the village, and his humanity, slowly fade from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I just wanted to take a moment to thank daovihi for beta-reading p much this whole fic and parts of my others. I highly doubt I'd be posting comprehensible content if not for them so thanks, it really means a lot.
> 
> (I'm like 99.9% sure everyone in this fandom knows who they are but if you don't, take a look at their fics and take a look at their tumblr (under the same name) quality content guaranteed.)


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